This is my fan-created continuation of Stargate Universe, picking up where The Drone Menace left off.
As Destiny pushes into a new galaxy, the crew believe they’ve finally escaped the shadows of the drones and found some time for peace and quiet… until they encounter the Zevrin Dominion. Fanatical, relentless, and armed with terrifying technology, the Zevrin see the pursuit of the origin signal as a sacred path, and every outsider as an abomination to be purged.
Cut off from Earth and caught between survival and discovery, the crew must navigate a silent war in the stars, where diplomacy is meaningless, battles are fought against an enemy made up of zealots, and one misstep could mean destruction for the crew of the Destiny.
This is a story of isolation, fanaticism, and the cost of reaching for a light claimed by another.
Archive Home The Long Road The Drone Menace
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Zevrin Probe
Chapter 2: Doctrine of the Dominion
Chapter 3: Opening Moves
Chapter 4: The Monolith
Chapter 5: Homeworld Command
Chapter 6: The Zevrin Ultimatum
Chapter 7: Into the Shadows
Chapter 8: Fighting the Tide
Epilogue
Prologue
The conference room at Homeworld Command was hushed, lit by the soft, golden glow of recessed ceiling lights that cast long, fractured shadows across the polished mahogany table. Colonel Everett Young and Camille Wray sat in borrowed bodies, straight-backed but weary, the subtle weight of months of isolation lingering in their eyes. Across from them, General Samantha Carter leaned forward, her composure that of a seasoned commander balancing duty and empathy. Arrayed behind her were key advisors from Atlantis, the Alpha Site, Olympus Base in Pegasus, and the soon-to-be decommissioned S.G.C., a cross-section of Earth’s interstellar reach gathered to hear the voice of a ship that felt like a distant legend.
A pair of I.O.A. representatives lingered on each side of the table, their expressions drawn tight with the familiar mix of skepticism and calculation. The silence between their measured breaths felt as heavy as the classified weight of the meeting itself.
Russia and China had taken to sitting together in recent months, a quiet alliance born of mutual ambition. Both nations now fielded BC-303s and had made it increasingly clear they wanted more than observation; they wanted control, or at least more influence, in deep space operations.
Across from them, France, Britain, Germany, Japan, and Canada still deferred to the United States on most Stargate matters, but Camille could feel their patience thinning. The way they leaned forward ever so slightly, the restless tap of a pen against a notepad, small gestures, but revealing. They wanted a larger hand in the cosmos, and they were no longer content to simply nod along.
Camille sat in her borrowed body, feeling the undercurrent of tension as keenly as the ship’s hum beneath her real feet light-years away. The conference room might have been calm on the surface, but beneath it ran the subtle friction of Earth politics; the quiet reminder that even victories among the stars did not erase the fault lines at home.
Young spoke first, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of weeks of battle and sacrifice. He walked Carter through the fall of the drone threat in a soldier’s cadence, stripped of flourish but heavy with consequence. He told her of the Ilumar crystal, of the desperate final stand, of Amanda Perry and Ginn merging with the alien technology to become something new, Aurelion, an intelligence vast enough to seize control of the drones and turn the tide of the war. Wray added the grim details with a measured tone: the destruction of the drone command ships, the final neutralization of the local threat, and the cost. The names hung unspoken between them, but the room seemed to remember them anyway.
“Destiny survived,” Young continued, his hands resting on the table like anchors. “She’s in better shape than she’s been in since we first set foot on her. Ilumar upgrades integrated with the tech we got from Eli copying what he learned from the Daedalus and Atlantis. Shields are stronger, weapons enhanced, replication system running. For the first time… we’re not just patching holes.”
Carter’s gaze flickered with the faintest glint of approval, though she said nothing yet.
“But” Wray interjected softly, “none of it changes the core problem. We still can’t safely dial Earth. The energy load could destabilize the core and destroy the ship. Even with the new systems, the margin for error is too small.”
Young nodded grimly. “That’s why we’re shifting focus to tracking down a Seed Ship. If we can tap its power, we can route energy safely and use its systems to reduce the strain on Destiny’s gate and power grid. It’s our best chance at making the connection without risking everything.”
The room was quiet for a moment, the faint hum of the lights filling the space. Carter finally leaned back in her chair, hands clasped, her voice calm but carrying authority. “You’ve accomplished something extraordinary. Neutralizing the drones… that changes the balance out there. And your brief alliance with Aurelion, however bittersweet, bought us all time.”
Her eyes moved briefly to the I.O.A. members, preempting their unease. “We’re assembling a small volunteer team, led by Colonel Telford. They’ll stage supplies and equipment at the Alpha Site and on Atlantis. If and when you find a way to dial safely from either site, they’ll be ready to join Destiny. When we get the base at Olympus restored enough they might be able to make contact easier, who knows, maybe being one galaxy closer will make a difference in power requirements.”
Wray exhaled quietly, some of the tension in her shoulders easing, but the weight of memory lingered in her eyes. She thought of Riley, Franklin, Amanda, Ginn… the long trail of loss behind this fragile moment of victory. “We’ve come so far,” she murmured, almost to herself, “and lost so many along the way.”
Young’s jaw tightened as he glanced toward the holographic stars flickering in the center of the table. “We’re stronger than ever,” he said, the words quiet but firm, “but it still feels like we’re alone out there. Isolated. Cut off from home.”
Carter’s expression softened, and for a moment, the weight of command lifted just enough to reveal the humanity beneath the uniform. “Then hold onto that strength,” she said gently. “We’ll be ready when you are.”
The meeting dissolved into muted goodbyes and the faint rustle of papers, leaving behind the same cloud of uncertainty that had hung over the table since it began. No one had truly decided on a path forward; no plan felt concrete. Young and Wray stepped out into the cool, sterile hallway of Homeworld Command, the heavy door sliding shut behind them with a hiss that seemed almost final.
Camille slowed her pace, her borrowed hands fidgeting for a moment before she found her voice. “I’m… I think I’m going to try and reach Sharon,” she said softly, as if admitting something private in the middle of a government corridor.
Young shifted his weight, his own unease written in the stiff set of his shoulders. “Right,” he said, nodding once, eyes flicking toward the corridor leading to the communications room. “I need to… head back to the ship. There’s a lot waiting for me.” He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. Command was a weight he couldn’t set down, even for a few hours on Earth.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. There was a shared understanding in their silence, an unspoken acknowledgement of everything they’d endured together, and the walls that still stood between them. Finally, Camille offered a small, almost apologetic nod. “See you back there, Colonel.”
“Yeah, I hope it goes well.” he replied quietly.
They parted without ceremony, their footsteps echoing in opposite directions down the polished hallway, two people tethered to the same fragile mission, but each retreating into the separate orbits of their own lives.
Eli arrived on Earth in a borrowed body, the world outside the communication stones feeling at once familiar and impossibly distant. He adjusted his eyes to the new setting and answered the usual security questions and gave his official authorization code. After a few minutes he told them where he wanted to go and it was only moments until the shimmer of Asgard transport enveloped him, and the SGC’s sterile chamber gave way to the brisk evening air of Andrews Air Force Base.
He materialized just inside one of the hangers and was escorted outside where a black SUV waited on the tarmac, engine purring, the driver crisp in his uniform. Another officer sat in the front passenger seat, glancing back briefly to confirm Eli’s destination and that he had settled before the car pulled away.
The city unfolded around him in fleeting snapshots as they drove. Traffic lights blinked in orderly patterns, people walked home from work, and storefronts glowed with the rhythm of ordinary life. Eli leaned against the cool window, watching the blur of headlights and neon. He realized, with a quiet pang, that he missed Destiny. The constant hum of the engines, the narrow metal corridors, the soft vibration beneath his feet; it had become home in a way Earth no longer was. Here, everything felt louder and emptier all at once.
The car finally slowed, tires crunching softly over the cemetery’s paved path. Rows of headstones stretched out beneath the soft wash of the setting sun. When the SUV came to a stop, Eli hesitated for a moment, hands resting on his knees, gathering the courage to step out into the quiet.
He walked slowly between the markers, the cool breeze ruffling his borrowed jacket. And then he saw it… her name etched in stone, simple and final. He crouched beside his mother’s grave, his throat tight, the words catching in his chest before they finally escaped.
“Hey, Mom,” he whispered, his voice soft, as though afraid to disturb the stillness. “I… I made it back. Sort of.” A weak laugh slipped out, the kind that cracked under its own weight. “I wish you could see me now. You’d probably still tell me to get more sleep, eat better, take care of myself… all the things I never listened to.”
His hand brushed the cold stone. Memories flickered, long nights by her bedside after his dad left, her voice laced with exhaustion but always with love. He swallowed hard. “I met someone. Her name was Ginn. She… she’s gone now. Like you. But she saved us. She saved me.” He paused, feeling the sting behind his eyes. “I was alone for a long time after losing her… and then you. Really alone. And I thought I couldn’t do it anymore. But I… I kept going. I think you’d be proud of that.”
A few tears slipped free as he talked, and the words began to come easier, gentler. He told her about the ship’s upgrades, how the crew was safer than they had ever been, how there was real hope now for the first time in years. He smiled through the ache in his chest. “It’s funny… I’m billions of light years away most of the time, but I feel closer to you here than I have in years. I carry you with me. Always.”
The sun dipped lower, painting the stones in warm gold. Eli finally stood, brushing the grass from his borrowed knees. He lingered for one last glance, his voice catching as he whispered, “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you again… just not yet.”
With that, he turned back to the waiting car, eyes damp but a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. The world around him carried on, birds in the trees, cars passing on the distant road, but for Eli Wallace, time slowed to a quiet, reflective pulse. He climbed into the SUV, ready to be ferried back to the SGC, and, soon enough, back to the only home that truly felt like his now… Destiny.
Chloe stepped into her mother’s home, the familiar scent of coffee and fresh flowers greeting her like a relic from another life. She had imagined this moment for months, rehearsed how she would explain that she was safe, that she had purpose, that Destiny was where she belonged. Yet as the door closed behind her, the house felt too quiet, the weight of absence pressing against her chest.
Her mother stood in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed almost defensively. The borrowed face from the communication stone made her hesitate for a heartbeat before she spoke. “Chloe…” There was a tremor in her voice, a thousand unspoken questions behind that single syllable. She moved forward to embrace her daughter’s host body, but it was tentative, like touching something fragile. “I was so scared you were…” Her voice cracked. She shook her head, composing herself. “I thought you’d never come home.”
“I’m here, Mom. For a little while,” Chloe said softly, guiding her to the couch. She glanced around and noticed small signs of change: the empty wine rack now filled with cookbooks, the folded pamphlets from support groups on the coffee table. Chloe let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“I haven’t… I haven’t had a drink in over two years now,” her mother said suddenly, as if she could feel Chloe’s eyes searching for reassurance. “I’ve been going to meetings. Sharon… Camille’s Sharon, she’s been helping me. She even got me to come to a few of the family support groups for the Destiny crew.”
A pang of guilt and gratitude surged through Chloe. “I was scared,” she admitted quietly. “Scared that losing daddy, and then me… might, well… break you.”
Her mother shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “It almost did. I wanted you here, Chloe. I wanted you home. I couldn’t understand how you could stay out there, risk your life… leave me alone.” Her voice wavered, and she glanced away toward the window, watching the city lights flicker against the evening sky.
Chloe reached for her mother’s hand, her own voice steady but soft. “I didn’t leave to hurt you. I found something out there, something I never knew I needed. I feel… like I belong. Like I’m part of something bigger than myself.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t feel lost or confused anymore.”
Her mother’s lips trembled, torn between pride and lingering fear. “I don’t know if I can ever be at peace with it. But… seeing you here, hearing you, even through this voice… I can see you’re not the same girl who left. You’ve grown into someone I barely recognize, and maybe that’s a good thing.” She finally met Chloe’s eyes, the hint of a smile breaking through. “I’m trying. And… I am proud of you. Even if I still wish you were here.”
The words washed over Chloe, bittersweet and grounding. She smiled gently, fighting the lump in her throat. For the first time in years, she felt a bridge between her two lives, one tethered to Earth, the other drifting among the stars. But as she glanced around the large, familiar house, the truth settled in: she was a visitor now, a guest in the life she’d left behind.
When she rose to leave, her mother squeezed her hand tightly, reluctant to let go. “Promise me you’ll come back when you can,” she whispered.
“I promise,” Chloe said, though her heart already knew where her path truly lay.
Camille sat alone in the small SGC comms room, the video link humming faintly as the connection settled. The hum of the base outside was muffled, distant, leaving her cocooned in an island of quiet anticipation. The call connected.
And then Sharon’s face appeared on the monitor. Just like that, the steel walls of the SGC seemed to fade. Sharon was in their living room back on Earth, sunlight spilling across the worn couch, the one Camille had bought years ago at a weekend market. The sight of it hit her with a rush of longing so sharp it was almost physical.
“Hey, you,” Sharon said, her voice a warm balm that immediately cut through the ache of separation.
Camille’s lips curved into a smile she hadn’t worn in days. “Hey. You look… good. The place looks the same.”
Sharon chuckled softly. “Well, you know me, creature of habit. But I have been keeping busy. I still organize the family meetings. We even had Chloe’s mother join us last week. She’s doing better, you’d be proud.” Her eyes softened. “We keep each other grounded, those of us left waiting.”
Camille’s heart gave a small twist. That word, waiting, always carried more weight than she liked to admit. “I wish I could be there for that,” she murmured.
“You are,” Sharon said gently. “Even when you’re not. I tell everyone the things you tell me, the updates about the crew, and it helps. It really helps. We are there for one another, through the tough times. Losing Marian really hit us all hard. It took a while but we all came back together in the end.”
They spoke of little things then, the neighbor’s dog that wouldn’t stop barking, the new tea Sharon had found that reminded her of their weekend trips to Chinatown. The small details of an ordinary life that Camille ached to step back into. It grounded her in a way that the infinite void of Destiny’s corridors never could.
“I think about coming home all the time,” Camille admitted after a pause, her voice quiet, almost fragile. “I want that more than anything. But…” She hesitated, the weight of the unspoken truth settling between them. But it may never happen.
Sharon’s eyes softened, a mixture of love and resignation. “I know. And I want you home, but… I also want you safe. And I want you to finish what you’ve started. That’s who you are, Camille. I wouldn’t love you if I didn’t respect that.”
The call ended as it always did, with quiet promises to hold on, to keep waiting, to keep loving. Camille closed the connection carefully, her borrowed hands trembling just a little. She sat in the stillness of the comms room, the hum of the equipment a distant echo, and let a few tears slip down her cheeks. It was a private grief; the kind she couldn’t show the crew.
She wiped her face, squared her shoulders, and stood. On Destiny, she was the calm voice of reason, the unshakable liaison, the one who kept hope alive. But here, for these stolen minutes, she allowed herself to simply be a woman in love with someone a universe away.
The world felt impossibly solid under Matthew Scott’s borrowed feet. Even after all the times he had returned to Earth through the communication stones, there was always that moment of disorientation; a sense that the ground itself was heavier, that the air carried a weight Destiny could never quite replicate. This time, it was different. It wasn’t the sterile corridors of the Pentagon or the SGC waiting for him. It was Colonel David Telford, leaning casually against a black SUV on the tarmac at Andrews, the late afternoon sun glinting off the polished metal.
“Welcome back, kid,” Telford said with a half-smile, though his eyes were serious. “You holding up?”
Scott nodded, adjusting to the host body as the two shook hands. “Yeah… as much as anyone can, I guess. It’s good to see you, sir.”
Telford gestured toward the SUV. “Come on. I thought maybe it was time for you to see something for yourself.”
The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the road was a lullaby that almost made Scott forget the hum of Destiny’s engines. The scenery outside the tinted windows rolled past in a blur, highways, neighborhoods, kids riding bikes. Ordinary life. A world that kept spinning without him. He realized, with a dull ache, that he missed the ship. Destiny had become more home than Earth ever had.
Telford broke the silence, his tone measured but kind. “I’ve been looking out for Annie. And your boy.” He glanced over to gauge Scott’s reaction. “We… some of the folks at Homeworld Security, pulled a few strings. Got her into some programs. Helped her get a good job, a better place to live. She’s doing well now, Matt. Really well.”
Scott swallowed hard, emotion catching in his throat. “I… I don’t even know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just know we’ve got your back. You’ve done more than enough out there. Let us carry some of this for you.”
The SUV turned onto a quiet street lined with tidy lawns and modest, sun-warmed houses. Telford slowed the vehicle and nodded toward one of them, a small home with a white fence and a neat little garden. In the front yard, Annie knelt in the grass, laughing as a small boy, his son chased a foam ball across the lawn. The sight punched the air out of Scott’s lungs.
He pressed a hand against the window as if he could reach across time and distance to touch them. Annie’s hair caught the light as she turned, smiling at the boy, and for a moment Scott could almost convince himself she sensed him there, watching. He felt the sting of tears and didn’t bother to blink them away.
“They’re happy,” Telford said softly. “Happier than they’ve been in a long time. You helped make that happen, even if you weren’t here.”
Scott nodded, his voice raw. “Thank you… for taking care of them when I couldn’t. For giving them this.”
Telford’s hand tightened briefly on the steering wheel. “It’s my duty, Matt. And it’s not just me. Everyone at Homeworld Command has your back. You’re not as alone out there as you feel.”
Scott stayed like that for a few minutes, silent in the back seat, watching his son laugh and tumble in the grass, watching Annie smile like the world hadn’t fallen apart. He memorized every detail, tucking it away to carry across the stars. Then, with a quiet nod to Telford, he said, “I’m ready to go back.”
The SUV pulled away, leaving the little house and the laughter behind, but Scott carried it with him; something fragile and warm, a reminder of why he kept fighting, and why, no matter how far from Earth he went, this would always be home.
The cemetery was quiet under a thin layer of gray clouds, the kind of muted day that seemed to swallow sound. Sgt. Ronald Greer stood before his father’s headstone, his shoulders square but his hands buried in the pockets of the borrowed uniform. He let his gaze settle on the name carved in stone and, for the first time in a long while, he felt no anger.
“Hey, Dad,” he said quietly. His voice sounded rough, unused. “I been thinking about you. About all the… stuff we never got right.” He crouched down, resting his arm on his knee, and stared at the ground for a moment. “I don’t blame you anymore. Life breaks some people. I get that now. I forgive you.”
The words were heavier than he expected and letting them out felt like setting down a pack he’d been carrying for years.
When he returned to the SGC, the familiar industrial hum of the base met him like an old friend. Since the Pentagon attack three years ago, the communication stones had been moved here, to the heart of the Mountain. As he passed the labs, Dr. Bill Lee intercepted him with an eager grin and a tablet tucked under his arm.
“Sergeant! Perfect timing,” Lee said. “We’ve got a new Asgard interface running. For non-cleared family calls, you can project your own image instead of the host’s. Keeps it… you know, less awkward.”
Greer hesitated at the doorway to the small, secure booth. “She won’t know anything’s different?”
“Nope,” Lee said, flipping a few switches. “She’ll just see her son, back safe for a few minutes. That’s all she needs to know.”
Greer nodded once and stepped inside. The hologram matrix flickered to life, and after a brief connection delay, his mother appeared on the screen. Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Ronnie!” she gasped, her voice catching with relief. “Oh, baby… I’ve been so worried.”
“Hey, Ma,” Greer said, and his own voice cracked just a little. “I’m okay. I promise. Just… doing my duty.”
She reached toward the screen as if she could touch his cheek. “You always do. I pray for you every night. I just…” Her voice broke, and she shook her head, smiling through tears. “I just need to see your face baby… I need to know you’re all right.”
Greer swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest almost unbearable. “I’m all right, Ma. And… I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I love you too, Ronnie,” she whispered. “So proud of you.”
The call was short, but when the screen went dark, he sat for a long moment in the quiet booth, breathing slow, letting the warmth of her voice settle into him. For the first time in years, he felt like he’d finally let go of some of the ghosts he’d been carrying.
Tamara Johansen sat quietly in the waiting area of the SGC’s communications wing, her hands folded in her lap as the next round of stone users were called in. One by one, members of the Destiny crew were stepping into other lives, into living rooms and backyards and quiet kitchens, places where laughter and tears waited for them on the other end of the visit.
When a young sergeant called her name, she shook her head gently. “I’m not… I’m not visiting anyone,” she said. “I don’t really have family to see.” The sergeant nodded, understanding without asking questions. Most of the crew had someone. TJ had patients, responsibilities, and ghosts. That was all.
Instead, she made her way to the medical wing, where the familiar antiseptic scent and soft hum of equipment reminded her of home in a way no kitchen or backyard could. Dr. Carolyn Lam met her in one of the side offices, a tablet tucked under her arm and an expression that balanced both clinical focus and genuine warmth.
“So,” Lam began as they sat down across from each other, “I hear you want to keep your training moving forward.”
TJ nodded, her posture straight but her voice quiet. “I’ve been… improvising for years. I can handle trauma care, field medicine, all that. But if I’m going to keep these people alive out there, I need to be better than that. I want to make it official. I want to start on a proper medical curriculum, whatever I can manage from Destiny.”
Dr. Lam studied her for a moment, then smiled softly and slid the tablet across the desk. “You can do this. It won’t be easy. There’s coursework you’ll have to study on your own, video modules you can watch when you’re here. I can schedule some one-on-one sessions with myself and other doctors also. You’ll start with the basics: pathology refreshers, pharmacology, and critical care. And then we’ll build from there.”
TJ’s fingers brushed over the tablet, scrolling through the sample syllabus. It was daunting, dense blocks of terminology and procedures, but there was a spark in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Purpose. A sense that she wasn’t just patching holes in the dam anymore; she was learning how to rebuild the wall.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with quiet determination.
Dr. Lam reached across the desk, resting a hand briefly over TJ’s. “You’ve already proven yourself out there. This is just the next step. And trust me, you can do this.”
When TJ left the medical wing later, she didn’t feel the pang of absence that had hovered over her when she’d turned down the family visit. Instead, she felt lighter, carrying something forward instead of looking back. Out in the hall, she paused for a moment, glancing toward the stars on a wall-mounted display that showed Destiny’s position light-years away. That was her home now, and the people aboard were her family. Preparing herself for them was enough.
The SGC’s secured communications wing had been transformed for the occasion. Rows of small video-call rooms glowed with the soft shimmer of Asgard hologram projectors, each one keyed to the crew of the Destiny. For the first time since the mission began, they would appear to their families as themselves, faces, voices, and gestures restored. They would be able to talk to the family members that didn’t have clearance to know where they were or what had happened.
The first calls were hesitant, almost reverent. A young technician stood in the glow of the projector as the video link engaged, his mother’s face filling the screen. She froze, eyes wide. “Sweetheart?” she whispered, her hand rising to her lips. The technician’s throat tightened as he nodded, finally able to let her see the man she remembered.
Across the hall, a botanist trembled as her husband lifted their 7 year old onto his lap. The little girl leaned forward, confused for a moment, then squealed, “Mommy!” The botanist laughed and cried in the same breath, pressing her palm to the holographic console as if the gesture could reach across the light-years between them.
In another room, a security sergeant silently watched his family eat dinner around their kitchen table, the screen propped at the end. His wife began to cry when she saw his real face for the first time since the day he shipped out. He whispered, “I’m okay. I’m really okay,” and for a moment, the room on his end felt like home.
In a quiet room at the end of the corridor, one crew member simply sat in silence as his father rambled about the weather and local politics. Seeing his son’s real eyes looking back at him undid the years of separation in an instant.
The air in the wing was heavy with the sound of human connection, laughter tangled with quiet sobs, the hum of the projectors casting soft light on tear-streaked faces. This was more than a call; it was a homecoming in miniature. For a fleeting hour, the light-years shrank, and the crew of Destiny were sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers again.
One by one, the calls ended. The holograms flickered out, leaving the rooms strangely dim and hollow, but the echoes of voices lingered in the air. As the crew stepped back into the SGC corridors, some smiled through tears, others walked in reflective silence. The weight of distance had not gone away, but for the first time, it felt just a little lighter.
The corridors of Destiny grew quiet again as the last of the crew returned to their routines, the soft echoes of laughter and tears fading into the ship’s familiar hum. Young found himself alone on the observation deck, the vast curve of the stars stretching out before him. The light from distant suns spilled across the scarred glass, reflecting in his tired eyes.
He rested his hands on the railing and exhaled, letting the silence settle. Beyond the observation deck, space was endless, cold, and beautiful. The memories of the calls, the faces of families they might never truly go home to, lingered in his mind like warm embers. For just a moment, the ache of distance felt bearable.
“One more step,” he thought, the words echoing in his mind as he watched the stars drift by, “and maybe… home won’t feel so far.”
The ship answered with a soft groan of metal and the steady thrum of engines beneath his feet. He straightened, letting the weight of command settle on his shoulders once more. Whatever waited out there, the Seed Ship, the next galaxy, or something they couldn’t yet imagine, they would meet it together.
Outside, Destiny glided through the darkness, majestic and scarred, her hull catching the faint light of a distant sun. Against the infinite black, she looked alive, stubborn, unbroken, and carrying the last flicker of hope for everyone aboard.
Destiny moved onward through the cold quiet of space, the ship slipped toward the unknown, and the series title would fade in like a whispered promise carried on starlight.
Chapter 1: The Zevrin Probe
The gentle, resonant hum of Destiny’s engines caressed the air like the rhythm of a heartbeat, a sound so constant and steady it felt as though the ship herself were exhaling after months of relentless strain. The vessel glided through the infinite void, a lone silhouette against the tapestry of distant stars, leaving behind the fractured remains of a galaxy haunted by the unyielding menace of the drones.
The scars of their pursuit lingered, not just on the ship’s ancient hull, marred with battle-worn burns and scratches, but within the crew, etched into weary faces and haunted eyes. And yet, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the oppressive weight of survival lifted, replaced by a fragile, almost disbelieving quiet. Peace. Not perfect, not whole, but peace nonetheless, cradled delicately in the vast emptiness of space.
Eli Wallace stood alone on the observation deck, the soft glow of starlight washing over him as his eyes locked onto the dwindling pinpricks of light behind them. Each distant star seemed to carry a memory, an echo of places they’d left behind and people they could never return to. His gaze lingered on unfamiliar constellations, their patterns fleeting and meaningless, knowing they were galaxies he’d never explore, stars he’d never know.
In his mind, Ginn’s face flickered like a ghost on a cracked monitor, half-formed, her features blurring at the edges, just out of reach. The memory wasn’t crisp; it wasn’t whole. It came in fragments; her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she solved a puzzle, the softness in her voice when she spoke his name. But just as he grasped at her image, it slipped away, leaving behind an ache so deep it threatened to hollow him out.
His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white against the tension coiled within him. Should he feel grateful for her sacrifice? Should he feel relieved that they were alive, that they had won? Or was it wrong to survive when it meant losing her? The guilt gnawed at him like a constant whisper in the back of his mind, a voice that asked over and over again: Why her and not me?
The observation deck’s stillness offered no solace. The stars beyond felt cold and indifferent, unyielding witnesses to the silent storm inside him. Eli let out a shaky breath, his chest tight, as the weight of survival pressed heavy on his shoulders. Somewhere, deep in the void, her memory lingered, but not enough to fill the empty space she left behind.
“They’d be proud of what we’ve done,” came the voice behind him, sharp and clipped, but heavy with an undertone of exhaustion that belied the strength it carried. Rush stepped into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning the same stars as Eli. His gaze, sharp and calculating as always, seemed softened by something unspoken, a shared ache neither of them could quite name.
Eli didn’t turn. He kept his eyes fixed on the shrinking pinpricks of light, his throat tightening. “Would they?” His voice cracked, the words falling out before he could stop them. He swallowed hard, fighting the knot in his chest. “I don’t even know if what we’re doing matters anymore.”
Rush tilted his head, his expression flickering between annoyance and something far gentler. “It matters,” he said quietly, the conviction in his tone catching Eli off guard. “The fact that we’re still here, that Destiny is still moving forward, is proof enough.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was dense, like the air had thickened with the weight of ghosts. Rush shifted his weight, glancing briefly at the younger man. His usual cutting remarks didn’t come. Instead, he let the stillness settle between them, as if it were an acknowledgment of what they’d both lost.
“Ship’s running better than ever,” Eli said at last, his voice uneven, forced. He was desperate to steer the moment away from the gaping void they both felt too close to. “With the repairs done and replication tech up and running, it almost feels… normal.”
Rush gave a slow nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ve built a measure of stability,” he said carefully, his voice low, almost meditative. “But don’t let it lull you into complacency. This ship…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the stars, as though he could see something far beyond their glow. “This ship has a way of reminding us just how far we have to go.”
The words hung in the air like a warning and a promise. Eli exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the railing in front of him. He wanted to argue, to push back against the suffocating inevitability of Rush’s statement, but deep down, he knew the truth in it. Destiny had given them hope, but it had also taken more than either of them was ready to admit.
And so, they stood there, side by side, two figures silhouetted against the endless expanse of stars, bound not just by their shared burdens but by the fragile, unspoken hope that something greater awaited them in the void. The silence between them felt profound, a moment suspended in time, until it was broken by the soft chime of an alert, echoing through the corridor like a whisper of destiny.
Eli’s handheld computer buzzed insistently in his palm. He glanced down, his pulse quickening as streams of data scrolled across the screen. “Long-range sensors are picking something up,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both curiosity and caution. His brow furrowed deeply. “It’s faint, but the energy pattern… it looks familiar.”
Rush stepped closer, his sharp gaze locking onto the device with laser focus. “Show me,” he said, his tone clipped, but with a subtle edge of excitement breaking through.
They moved swiftly to the nearest console, the weight of grief and exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by the flicker of discovery. Eli’s hands flew over the interface, pulling up a detailed readout. On the screen, a waveform appeared, a pulsing rhythm that seemed almost alive. It shimmered faintly, erratic yet unmistakably similar to the origin signal they had spent years chasing through the stars.
Eli’s heart pounded, the ache of loss momentarily drowned out by adrenaline. “Could this be…?”
“Possibly,” Rush cut in, his voice tight and analytical, though his eyes betrayed a glint of anticipation. He leaned closer, scrutinizing the data with the intensity of a man who lived for moments like this. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. Whatever it is, it’s faint… scattered.”
The spark of hope that had begun to build between them dimmed as another chime pierced the air, sharp and insistent. The console flared to life with a new reading, an object ahead, small but radiating a steady stream of energy.
Eli’s breath hitched. “What is that?”
Rush’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening as the realization set in. “Something… or someone… else is on this path.”
The quiet exhilaration that had momentarily filled the room dissolved, leaving behind a growing tension that coiled in the air like an unspoken threat. The stars beyond the viewport, once a canvas of endless possibility, now seemed distant and cold, their light brittle against the suffocating darkness. The vast unknown ahead no longer promised discovery alone, it whispered of dangers lurking just out of sight, waiting to reveal themselves.
“A probe of some sort,” Rush murmured, his voice low and edged with suspicion as he leaned in closer to the console. The screen sharpened its resolution, revealing a sleek, elongated construct gliding silently through the void. Its surface gleamed with an ethereal blue light that pulsed faintly, alien and otherworldly, while energy readings danced across the display, strange and utterly unfamiliar.
Eli’s frown deepened, his eyes locked on the readout. “Looks like it’s scanning the same path as us.”
Rush’s expression darkened, his gaze narrowing with grim understanding. “Not just the path,” he muttered, his voice heavy with foreboding. “It’s scanning us.”
Before Eli could process the weight of Rush’s words, a new sensor alert jolted through the console, its shrill tone cutting the air like a knife. The display shifted, and the image of a larger object materialized, a ship, angular and menacing, tearing through the void at high speed. Its jagged frame bristled with weapons, each angle and edge designed with a singular purpose: destruction.
Rush’s jaw tightened as he straightened, his tone now sharp and commanding. “Get Young,” he said, the steely edge in his voice carrying the urgency of a man who knew the gravity of the moment. “This just got complicated.”
As the unknown vessel closed the distance, Destiny surged forward, its engines glowing like defiant embers against the consuming darkness. The ship pressed on into the uncharted galaxy, a lone streak of light in the vast abyss, the ghosts of their past now trailing behind. But the future ahead felt heavier, more foreboding, a gauntlet of dangers they had no choice but to face.
Destiny glided through the dark void, a shadowed sentinel against the unyielding expanse of space, inching closer to the alien probe. The angular construct hovered in the emptiness like a predator in wait, its smooth, metallic surface reflecting faint glimmers of starlight. Soft ripples of eerie blue energy coursed along its frame, their pulsating rhythm almost hypnotic, casting ghostly glows that danced across Destiny’s hull.
On the bridge, Colonel Young stood as still as a statue, his arms folded tightly across his chest, the faint light from the probe painting his face in pale shades of blue. The newly installed Asgard based holographic display in front of him shimmered with detail, projecting a swirling image of the probe that seemed to pulse in time with the object itself. Each flicker of the energy signature felt alive, its patterns so deliberate they whispered of intention, of purpose.
The air on the bridge felt heavier, laden with the tension of anticipation. The crew moved quietly, their silhouettes illuminated by the soft, shifting glow of the console lights, as if the probe’s strange rhythm had seeped into their space, urging them to approach, to uncover its secrets. Every detail of the alien device, every pulse of light, seemed to taunt Destiny’s fragile calm, as though it was daring them to come closer, to see what lay beneath its gleaming surface.
“Status?” Young’s voice cut through the low hum of the bridge, calm but carrying an edge that commanded attention.
Eli’s fingers flew over the console, his movements quick and precise, his face illuminated by the shifting glow of data streaming across the screen. “It’s definitely scanning,” he muttered, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing second. “Not just the space ahead, but… well, everything around it. Including us.”
“That’s unsettling,” Lt. Scott said from his station nearby. His posture was stiff; his gaze locked on the distant shape of the probe displayed on the holographic screen. One hand hovered instinctively over his weapon, the reflexive gesture betraying his unease despite the lack of an immediate threat.
Rush loomed over Eli’s shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the intricate, alien patterns flashing across the console. “The energy pattern is like nothing we’ve encountered before,” he said, his voice low, carrying an air of guarded intrigue. “But this isn’t random. It’s deliberate… controlled.” His tone darkened slightly, every word weighted with suspicion. “This isn’t just some derelict artifact. It’s active.”
The tension on the bridge thickened, unspoken but palpable, as if the room itself were holding its breath. Young’s gaze shifted to Camille Wray, who stood quietly at the edge of the bridge, arms crossed. Her calm demeanor didn’t hide the flicker of apprehension in her eyes as she watched the scene unfold.
“What are the odds this thing is friendly?” Young asked dryly, though the grim undertone betrayed the rhetorical nature of the question.
Camille shook her head, a wry smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, though there was no humor in it. “Considering how often we find things that want to kill us? Slim.”
Young exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening as he turned back to the holographic display. “Eli, can we access its systems?”
Eli hesitated, his hands hovering above the controls as if the mere act of typing could wake something dangerous. “Maybe? I can try to piggyback a signal into its transmission, but there’s no guarantee it won’t notice.”
“Do it,” Young ordered, his voice firm and resolute, cutting through the uncertainty like a blade. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Eli nodded, his fingers resuming their dance across the console, though the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his unease. His brow furrowed in concentration as lines of alien code began to scroll across his screen, strange symbols and sequences that flickered with an almost organic fluidity, like something alive. The alien energy patterns pulsed steadily on the display, their rhythm almost taunting, as if the probe were daring him to keep going. “It’s complicated,” he murmured, biting his lip. “The systems are layered… encrypted. Whoever built this thing didn’t want anyone poking around.”
“Keep trying,” Rush ordered, his voice low and focused, his eyes locked onto the alien patterns scrolling across the console. “Whatever’s inside that thing might tell us what else is out there.”
Before Eli could respond, a sharp, shrill alarm tore through the bridge, shattering the tense quiet. The holographic display flared to life, bathing the room in a pulsating red glow as a new warning blinked into view. A second object had appeared on the sensors, larger, faster, and closing the distance with unsettling precision.
Eli’s fingers froze mid-air, his breath catching in his throat. “Uh… we’ve got company,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What kind of company?” Young demanded, stepping forward, his posture rigid as his eyes darted to the display.
Scott leaned over his own station, his face hardening as he took in the readings. “It’s a ship,” he said grimly. “Definitely not the probe. And it’s coming straight for us.”
Rush’s expression darkened, his sharp features twisting with irritation as his shoulders tensed. “The probe must have sent an alert,” he said, his voice heavy with suspicion. “We’ve been detected.”
Young didn’t hesitate, his tone sharpening with command. “Shields up,” he barked, his gaze sweeping across the bridge crew. “Scott, get ready to return fire.”
The crew sprang into action, the quiet hum of the bridge giving way to a symphony of hurried commands and the sharp, insistent beeps of systems powering to life. The tension thickened as the holographic display sharpened, revealing the approaching vessel in stark detail.
The new ship loomed on the display, a manifestation of menace and precision engineered for destruction. Its design was a brutal mix of elegance and malice, its hull a matte black void that seemed to drink in the surrounding starlight. Jagged, blade-like fins jutted out along its flanks, giving it the appearance of a monstrous predator bristling with claws. The ship’s surface was segmented with angular plates, each etched with glowing veins of pulsating blue energy that writhed like veins feeding a living, malevolent entity.
Its forward section tapered into a sharp, spear-like prow, lined with faintly glowing apertures that looked like unblinking eyes, scanning and calculating with chilling intent. Along its underside, rows of glowing nodes hinted at advanced weapon systems, each one crackling faintly with the promise of violence. The energy that pulsed through its weapon arrays intensified with every second, casting a flickering, predatory glow that seemed to dare Destiny to make a move.
The rear engines burned with an otherworldly light, their shimmering blue contrails trailing behind like the tail of a deadly comet. Its movements were unnervingly fluid, almost serpentine, as though the ship were alive and prowling, sizing up its prey before striking. It radiated a palpable sense of aggression, as if its very existence was defined by the act of hunting and annihilation.
Every detail of the vessel radiated intent, a merciless, unrelenting drive to dominate, destroy, and erase anything that dared cross its path. This was no ordinary ship; it was a predator in every sense, an avatar of annihilation forged to ensure nothing escaped its grasp. Its angular prow seemed to leer at Destiny like a blade poised to strike, and its glowing energy veins pulsed faster, signaling the hunt had begun.
“Whoever they are, they’re not here for a chat,” Scott muttered grimly, his voice tight with urgency.
The alien ship surged forward, its engines flaring with a ferocity that lit the void behind it. It twisted into an aggressive formation, its movements fluid and exact. Without hesitation, its forward cannons roared to life, sending a barrage of glowing projectiles screaming through the dark. The first salvo slammed into Destiny’s shields with a flaring impact, the vibrations shuddering through the hull like the growl of some unseen beast.
“Shields holding… for now,” Brody called out, though the tension in his voice betrayed his fear.
Young’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the console. “Eli, can we shut the probe down remotely?” he snapped, his voice cutting through the chaos.
“No time!” Eli shot back, his fingers a blur over the controls. His face was pale, eyes wide as he scanned for options. “It’s locked us out!”
“Then we leave,” Young ordered, his tone resolute despite the shaking deck beneath his feet. “Set a course away from the probe, maximum FTL.”
Rush spun on him, his face contorted with frustration. “We can’t leave now! That probe might be the key to understanding the signal… ”
“Rush, we’re not getting answers if we’re dead!” Young roared, his voice sharp enough to cut through the din. He turned to Scott, who was already locking onto the approaching vessel. “Scott, keep their weapons busy. Eli, get us out of here.”
The alien ship fired another salvo, the barrage slamming into Destiny’s shields with feral intensity. Lights flickered across the bridge, casting shadows that danced like restless specters, while the vibrations grew harsher with each impact. Time felt like it was unraveling, each second stretched taut with the weight of a deadly decision. The alien vessel wasn’t just closing in, it was overwhelming, pressing Destiny deeper into the jaws of a violent engagement.
The bridge shook violently as another punishing volley hammered Destiny’s shields, sending a cascade of sparks raining down from an overloaded console. The acrid smell of scorched circuitry filled the air, and warning lights flickered across every station.
Scott acted without hesitation, his jaw set as he locked onto the enemy vessel and fired Destiny’s main cannon. A brilliant surge of energy tore through the void, slamming into the alien ship’s hull. The impact left a jagged, blackened scar, but the vessel barely faltered, its relentless advance unbroken. It moved like a predator with a taste for blood, closing the gap with unnerving speed.
“They’re gaining!” Brody called out, his voice tight with rising panic as another alarm blared through the bridge.
“FTL ready!” Eli shouted, his hands flying across the console, his voice tinged with urgency.
“Do it!” Young barked.
The stars outside stretched into endless lines, bending and blurring as Destiny surged into faster-than-light travel, leaving the probe and its guardian behind. The bridge fell into an uneasy stillness, the echoes of the alien ship’s weapons still reverberating in their minds. The faint hum of Destiny’s engines seemed almost deafening against the oppressive silence.
Young exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking under the weight of the moment. “Damage report,” he demanded, his voice steady but weary.
Brody scanned his console, his fingers trembling slightly. “Minor hull damage,” he said, relief creeping into his tone. “Shields are holding at 90%.”
Rush stood rigid near the console, his lips pressed into a hard line. The frustration on his face was palpable. “We left without answers,” he said, his words laced with bitterness.
“We left alive,” Young countered firmly, his gaze locking onto Rush’s. “That’s more than enough for now.”
Eli leaned back in his chair, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. “Whatever that ship was, it wasn’t just following the probe. They were looking for something.”
“And they’ll come after us again,” Young said grimly, his eyes fixed on the holographic display where the probe’s signal had once glowed. “Brody, get me everything we recorded on that probe and the ship. We need to be ready for whatever’s out there.”
The crew slowly returned to their stations, their movements methodical but heavy with unease. Destiny’s engines hummed steadily as the ship continued its course through the uncharted galaxy. Yet the silence of space offered no solace, it only deepened the gnawing sense of foreboding. Whatever force they had encountered wasn’t finished with them, and the vast expanse ahead seemed darker, more hostile. This was not the end of the encounter, only the beginning.
Chapter 2: Doctrine of the Dominion
The soft, rhythmic hum of Destiny’s engines vibrated through the air, a quiet but ever-present reminder of the ship’s persistence, a heartbeat in the vast emptiness of space. In the dimly lit control room, glowing consoles bathed the space in flickering light, casting shifting shadows that danced across the walls and faces of those within. The atmosphere was thick with tension and focus, a silent undercurrent of urgency threading through every movement.
Eli sat hunched over his console, his shoulders tight with concentration, his eyes locked onto the scrolling lines of alien code flashing across his screen. The intricate patterns seemed to pulse with a life of their own, their strange, fluid symbols almost taunting in their complexity. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, but he didn’t falter, his fingers a blur as they navigated the labyrinth of data.
Nearby, Chloe stood poised but tense, her hands moving across the console and her brow furrowed as she worked to make sense of the fragments of intercepted signals. The glow from her console reflected off her features, highlighting the determination etched into her expression. She cross-referenced streams of data with Destiny’s translation algorithms, her lips moving soundlessly as she muttered calculations under her breath.
Behind them, Rush moved with restless energy, his sharp eyes darting between the holographic display and the consoles. His hands twitched occasionally, as though he wanted to snatch the controls himself but held back, his thoughts racing too quickly to be confined to any single task. His pacing was a quiet storm, the sound of his boots against the deck echoing faintly in the stillness.
The room felt alive, a symphony of glowing lights, muted hums, and the tapping of keys as the trio worked in unspoken harmony. The weight of the data they were unraveling hung in the air like a charged current, each line of alien script carrying the promise of revelation, or danger.
“These signals are layered,” Rush muttered, his voice tinged with both irritation and fascination. “It’s a wonder we intercepted anything coherent at all during that skirmish.”
Eli sighed, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Yeah, well, coherent is a stretch. Most of this looks like garbage.” He paused, squinting at a particularly complex string of symbols. “Except this… this feels like a transmission header.”
“Let me see,” Chloe said, leaning closer, her fingers brushing the controls as she isolated the section Eli had highlighted. The string of symbols pulsed faintly on the screen, their rhythm almost hypnotic. “It’s repeating, almost like a signature,” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “Maybe it’s tied to their fleet or their command structure?”
“Or their dogma,” Rush interjected, his voice tight with restrained urgency as he leaned over Chloe’s shoulder. His sharp eyes scanned the display, zeroing in on the pattern. “Look at the structure, it’s rhythmic, almost ritualistic. If I had to wager, I’d say this isn’t just tactical communication. This is doctrine.”
Eli frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced between them. “Doctrine? You mean, like… religious doctrine?”
Rush nodded slowly, his lips curling into a grim smile. “Precisely. Whoever these people are, they’re not just chasing us for sport. They’re zealots. This isn’t war to them… it’s a crusade.”
Chloe’s stomach churned at the implication. Her hands hovered over the controls as she searched for more patterns. “What kind of doctrine justifies this level of violence?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rush tapped the screen, isolating another section of the text as the computer translated it. His tone darkened as he read aloud: “‘The purification of the path to the divine.’” His eyes flicked to Chloe, his expression grim. “If I’m interpreting this correctly, they see the origin signal as some sort of holy beacon… a direct connection to their gods.”
Eli’s face hardened, his normally bright demeanor dimmed by the weight of Rush’s words. “And anyone else looking for it?” he asked, his voice low.
“Is a heretic,” Rush replied, his voice dripping with contempt, “or worse, a corruption that needs to be purged.”
Chloe’s hands trembled as she brought up another segment of text, her voice shaky as she read aloud. “‘All life outside the divine is an affront to the sanctity of creation. Only the chosen may walk the sacred path.’” She paused, her voice faltering. “They… they don’t just want to stop us. They think we’re an abomination.”
Eli blinked at the screen, his gaze narrowing as another phrase caught his eye in the translated text. He pointed to it. “Wait… what’s that?”
Rush followed his gesture, scanning the highlighted symbols. A single word stood out, repeated several times in flowing, jagged script. His lips curled slightly as he deciphered it. “Zevrin,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “They call themselves the Zevrin Dominion.”
Chloe inhaled sharply, the name sinking into her mind like an unwelcome brand. “Dominion,” she repeated quietly, the word dripping with the weight of arrogance and control. “They don’t just see themselves as chosen… they see themselves as rulers.”
Rush’s expression twisted with a mix of disgust and grim satisfaction, as though vindicated by the horrors he’d uncovered. “The pilot must have had this running on a loop while he attacked us. A constant reminder of their so-called faith.”
Eli leaned back, the revelation sinking in like a lead weight. “So, they’re not just chasing the signal. They’re claiming it.”
“And they won’t stop,” Rush said, his tone matter of fact and chillingly final. “Not until they’ve eradicated anything, or anyone, they perceive as a threat to their so-called divine mission. These Zevrin appear to be on a holy mission.”
The name settled over them like a curse, heavy and inescapable; theZevrinDominion. This was no ordinary alien threat, but a civilization forged in fanaticism, convinced that their path alone was sacred and all others were abominations to be purged. The air in the control room thickened with the weight of that realization, as lines of alien script pulsed faintly on the screen, each flicker a rhythmic echo of the doctrine that now loomed over them. This was not war. This was judgment.
The Zevrin weren’t just hunting Destiny, they were condemning it, and no plea, no logic, no compromise would matter to those who believed themselves divine.
Colonel Young stood rigid at the front of the observation deck, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crew like a sentinel preparing for battle. The usual hum of casual chatter was nowhere to be found, replaced by an oppressive silence that seemed to amplify every small sound, the soft shuffle of boots, the faint, rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines, and the occasional, sharp beep of a console echoing in the still air. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, their shifting forms making the atmosphere feel heavier, as though the weight of what was to come had taken physical shape.
Beside him, Camille Wray stood poised and collected, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Though her expression was calm, her sharp eyes betrayed the gravity of the situation. Every movement she made was measured, every glance deliberate, as though she were choosing each word in her head before she spoke. The room felt charged, the crew’s anticipation palpable as they waited for the truth they already suspected but didn’t want to hear.
“All right, listen up,” Young began, his voice carrying the authority of a man who’d led them through countless crises. “We’ve got a situation. The ship we encountered, the one that forced us into FTL, isn’t just some random aggressor. Based on the data Rush, Eli, and Chloe intercepted, we’re dealing with a highly advanced, highly dangerous species called the Zevrin Dominion.”
Murmurs rippled through the crew, and Young raised a hand to silence them. “They’re not like anything we’ve faced before. Their entire society revolves around their belief in the origin signal. To them, it’s not just a mystery to solve… it’s sacred. And they see anyone else chasing it as a threat to their faith.”
“They’re zealots,” Camille added, her voice steady but somber. “Their transmissions refer to ‘purifying the path to the divine.’ That means they won’t negotiate. They won’t see reason. If they find us again, their only goal will be to eliminate us.”
The murmurs grew louder, rippling through the gathered crew, laced with unease and fear. Young let it go for a moment, allowing them to voice their apprehensions, before raising his hand for silence. “That’s why we need to be ready,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Until we know more about their capabilities, our best option is to avoid detection. I’m asking all of you to remain vigilant. No unnecessary power usage, no reckless actions, and no leaving the ship without clearance. If they find us, we have to assume conflict is inevitable.”
Lt. James, standing near the back, raised her hand and spoke up, her voice calm but firm. “Colonel, if it does come to that, are we equipped to fight back? The last engagement didn’t exactly give me confidence in our firepower.”
Young’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. “We’ve upgraded our systems, and we’ve held our own against tough enemies before. But the truth is, this ship wasn’t designed for war. If it comes down to a fight, our best bet is to use our wits and stay one step ahead.”
“Staying ahead isn’t going to mean much if they catch us in FTL,” Brody interjected, his tone edged with worry. “They’re faster than anything we’ve encountered. If they’re tracking us, how long can we keep this up?”
Young nodded toward Eli, who stepped forward hesitantly. “The good news is, I’ve already started modifying the long-range sensors,” Eli said, glancing nervously at the crowd. “I think I can boost our ability to detect them before they get too close, but… it’s not perfect.”
“What about their weapons?” Volker asked from the side, his brows furrowed. “We held up against one ship, but if more show up… do we even have a chance?”
Young exhaled heavily, his frustration evident. “That’s why we’re not looking for a fight,” he said firmly. “The plan is to stay ahead of them and avoid being seen. We’ll adapt as we go. We always do. We just have to get across this galaxy to the next.”
Camille stepped forward, her tone softening as she addressed the crew. “We’ve faced impossible odds before,” she said, her voice steady but compassionate. “And we’ve survived because of our ability to work together. That’s not going to change. What matters now is that we stay united and focused. Every one of you has a role to play in keeping us safe.”
Greer, standing near the front, crossed his arms and gave a faint nod. “You can count on us, Colonel,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “We’ll be ready if it comes to that.”
Chloe, her voice quieter but no less determined, added, “If the Zevrin really think they’re the only ones worthy of the signal, they’re not going to stop. We need to be prepared to outthink them, not just outfight them.”
Young nodded, his eyes sweeping over the crew. “We’re in this together,” he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of experience and leadership. “And we’ll get through it the same way we always have: one step at a time. Dismissed.”
The crew began to disperse, their steps sluggish and heavy, as though the gravity of the moment had seeped into their very bones. Conversations were sparse, replaced by the sound of muted footsteps and the faint hum of the ship’s systems. Faces were etched with worry, their expressions tight and unreadable as each person retreated into their own thoughts. The air felt thicker, weighted with the unspoken tension that clung to the observation deck like a shadow that refused to dissipate.
Wray lingered near the Colonel, her arms crossed, gaze distant. “Why is it always religion?” she asked quietly, not looking at Young. “The Goa’uld, the Ori… and now these Zevrin. Every time we think we’re chasing knowledge, we find zealots with god complexes.”
Young let out a long, low breath, his jaw tight. “Because belief gives people permission to stop asking questions,” he muttered. “And people who don’t ask questions… they’ll do anything in the belief of their certainty.”
Wray nodded, her voice hollow. “It’s never just war. It’s always a crusade.”
He didn’t respond, but the silence between them said enough.
What they had learned pressed down on them like an invisible force, the realization of the Zevrin’s threat heavy and suffocating. Yet beneath the fear, a grim determination flickered, a quiet understanding that no matter how daunting the path ahead, they had no choice but to keep moving forward. Destiny’s course was immutable, an unyielding trajectory through the vast unknown, and the crew’s survival depended on staying one step ahead of the relentless danger pursuing them.
Beyond the observation windows, the stars stretched endlessly, cold and indifferent to their plight. Somewhere in that expanse, the Zevrin’s shadow loomed, a menacing specter that would not rest until it had caught up to them. The silence of space no longer felt serene, it was charged with the foreboding promise of the battle yet to come.
Chapter 3: Opening Moves
Destiny emerged from FTL deep inside a star system, the deep hum of its engines softening into a lower, steadier rhythm as the ship slowed to sublight speed. Beyond the viewport, the star loomed like a molten titan, its immense, searing brilliance dominating the void. Cascades of golden light rippled outward in waves, their radiant glow refracting off Destiny’s hull like liquid fire. The shimmering patterns danced across the bridge, painting the walls and crew in streaks of amber and gold, creating a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding expanse of space surrounding them.
The sheer power of the star seemed to press down on the ship, its pulsing light both mesmerizing and humbling. Yet the awe-inspiring spectacle did little to ease the tension thickening the air on the bridge. The quiet hum of Destiny’s systems, so often a source of comfort, felt charged, uneasy, its rhythm more foreboding than reassuring. The crew moved with sharp focus, their eyes flicking between displays and readouts, every movement deliberate. The beauty outside was undeniable, but it was beauty laced with danger, and everyone on the bridge felt its weight.
Colonel Young sat in the command chair, his hands moving across the readouts with steady precision. His eyes swept the displays, alert, unreadable. Only the tight crease between his brows betrayed the tension coiled beneath his calm exterior.
Rush stood near the primary console, his tone clipped. “Still no Stargates registering in this galaxy.”
Eli spun in his chair. “What do you mean, none?”
“Exactly that,” Rush replied, not looking away from the data. “Since our arrival, not a single address has pinged. It’s likely the Zevrin either destroyed the network or removed it from this region entirely.”
Young glanced over, his jaw tightening.
Eli frowned, tapping through several diagnostic windows. “But… if there are no gates, how does Destiny even know where to go?”
Rush’s voice softened, not with empathy, but with fatigue. “The route was charted long before we came aboard. Plenty of gates we passed were already dead or inaccessible. This… is just the next dead zone until we get to the next galaxy.”
“Or the end of the road.” Eli muttered softly, the words followed by a silence that lingered just a beat too long.
“We’ll figure that out later,” Young cut in. “Right now, we focus on recharging and getting back into FTL. Brody?”
“Readings look stable,” Brody called out. He studied the output with a quick glance, voice calm but underlined with a subtle urgency. “We’re moving into position now. Recharge cycle should begin within the next twenty minutes or so.”
“Let’s do this fast,” Young said. His voice was low, controlled, but carried the gravity of someone who knew too well that things could change in an instant. “Scott, eyes on sensors. I want to know the second anything blinks in this system.”
“Copy that, sir.” Scott replied as he began running sweeps of the system.
At a nearby console, Volker leaned forward, scanning the stellar flux. “Output’s clean,” he said. “Nice, even energy curve. Won’t take long to top off.”
“Good,” Young murmured. But his posture didn’t relax. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, like he was waiting for it to betray him.
The last brush with the Zevrin still hung in the air like ozone after a lightning strike. The bridge felt exposed, unarmored. Every flicker of light seemed sharper, every system hum too loud. Being out of FTL, paused in open space, felt like standing on thin ice beneath a cracking sky.
Then it came.
A shrill alert split the stillness, sharp as a blade. The bridge lights stuttered. The holographic display exploded into color, painting the room in alternating hues of blue and red. Jagged shadows leapt across the crew’s faces as the sensors flared with new signatures.
“What now?” Young asked, his voice clipped as he leaned closer to the display, his eyes narrowing at the rapidly populating data.
Scott leaned over his station, his gaze locked onto the ominous shapes taking form on the screen. His jaw tightened, and his voice was heavy with unease. “Multiple contacts, looks bigger than the ship we encountered before. I think they’re space stations. Four of them. Positioned like sentries around the system.”
Rush emerged from the shadows at the edge of the bridge, his sharp gaze darting over the configuration of the Zevrin stations. His expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Guarded,” he muttered, the word dripping with certainty. “The Zevrin aren’t just passing through this system… it’s strategic. Likely a key point in their territory.”
“Great,” Young muttered under his breath, his frustration barely contained. His fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. “Any sign they’ve noticed us?”
Before anyone could respond, the sensors flashed again, a new alert filling the display with fresh warnings. Movement, fast, deliberate, and unmistakably four massive ships detaching from the space stations, one from each. Their angular, predatory forms cutting through the star’s golden light. The glow reflected off their jagged hulls, highlighting the same faint, pulsing blue energy that had become a chilling signature of the Zevrin. Their engines flared, streaking toward Destiny with deadly purpose.
“Looks like that’s a yes,” Eli said grimly, his voice low but steady as he stared at the approaching ships.
The Zevrin warships dominated the holographic display, their sleek, predatory forms radiating an aura of menace. Their hulls were angular and jagged, each panel intersecting like the blades of a finely crafted weapon. They seemed less like ships and more like instruments of destruction, designed for intimidation as much as annihilation.
Each vessel dwarfed Destiny, their immense silhouettes cutting through the void with cold precision. Faint pulses of eerie blue energy coursed along their hulls, the same otherworldly glow that had marked the probe and their first encounter with the Zevrin. The light rippled like veins feeding a living beast, casting fleeting patterns across their metallic surfaces that shimmered in the distant starlight. Bristling with weaponry, cannons, turrets, and arrays that crackled faintly with immense power, the ships seemed to exude a silent promise of violence.
They moved towards Destiny steadily. The closest came into view as it approached, its engines leaving faint trails of ghostly luminescence as it closed the distance with relentless purpose. Each ship’s design screamed dominance, and their overwhelming size and firepower left no doubt about the peril Destiny faced. The ominous glow of their blue energy pulsed in rhythm with their approach, as if the ships themselves were alive and eager for the kill.
“How long until they catch us?” Young asked the room.
Scott, replied almost immediately, “The closest will be within weapons range in a few minutes. We’ve got another two closing at a rate that will bring them into the fight a few minutes after that and it appears that the farthest one out is moving into our direct path.”
“If we can make it to the star they can’t follow us.” Rush chimed in.
“They’re locking weapons,” Scott warned, his voice taut as his hand hovered over the weapons console, ready to respond.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Young barked, his command sharp and immediate. “Eli, get me some options!”
Eli’s fingers flew across his console, lines of data scrolling rapidly across his screen. Before he could answer, the first salvo slammed into Destiny’s shields with a deafening impact, the ship rocking violently under the assault. Sparks erupted from an overloaded console, cascading like fiery rain, while warning lights flickered across the bridge in a chaotic strobe of red and yellow.
“Shields are holding, but they won’t take a lot of that!” Brody shouted over the din, his voice tight with urgency.
Greer entered the bridge, gripping the railing for balance, scanned the display and cursed under his breath. “Those things are massive,” he said, his tone a mix of disbelief and anger as he manned one of the weapon systems. “Bigger than Ori warships. A lot bigger.”
Eli glanced up from his station, his face pale but resolute. “Yeah, and they’ve got firepower to match. We need to move, fast.”
Rush was already striding to another console, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. “Eli, help me here! Chloe, get me a stable connection to their network! If we’re going to survive this, we need to understand what we’re dealing with… now.”
Chloe nodded without hesitation, her hands moving swiftly over the controls. Despite the ship’s violent shuddering with each hit, her fingers stayed steady, her focus unwavering. “I’ve got a partial connection,” she said, her voice calm but urgent. “Eli, you’re in.”
Eli’s hands flew over his console, his eyes scanning the flood of alien code that began streaming across his screen. The characters were jagged and unfamiliar, glowing faintly like embers from a fire. “This is insane,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Their systems are ridiculously complex, but I think I can… yeah, I’m in. Pulling data now.”
Before anyone could respond, another brutal volley slammed into Destiny’s shields, the ship groaning under the impact. Consoles flickered and sparked, the vibrations rattling through the deck like the angry growl of some unseen beast. Scott gritted his teeth, locking onto one of the pursuing ships and firing back with Destiny’s main cannon. The energy burst streaked across the void, slamming into the Zevrin warship with a dazzling explosion that left a glowing scar etched across its hull.
“It’s still coming,” Scott called out, his voice sharp with frustration. The scarred ship didn’t slow, if anything, it seemed more determined, its glowing energy veins pulsing brighter as it surged forward. The other warships adjusted their formation, pressing the assault with deadly precision.
“We’re running out of time,” Rush snapped, his sharp eyes fixed on the cascading streams of alien data Eli was furiously extracting. “Pull everything you can but prioritize weapon systems and fleet coordination. Every second counts, we’ll need every scrap of intel if we’re going to survive this.”
“Brody, focus on evasive maneuvers,” Young barked, his tone razor-sharp as he gripped the edge of his command chair. “We just need to hold them off long enough to reach the star. Once we’re inside, they won’t be able to follow.”
“Got it.” Brody stated as he adjusted their course to close the distance with the star faster.
Rush cast a glance at Eli, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration. “How much longer?”
Eli didn’t look up, his fingers flying over the controls as alien code flooded his screen like a relentless tide. “I’m pulling everything I can,” he muttered, his voice tight with concentration. “But it’s like trying to scoop water out of a river with a spoon, there’s just so much data…”
“Then prioritize!” Rush snapped, his voice cutting through the din. “We don’t have time for everything. Focus on what matters!”
“I know!” Eli shot back, his tone laced with both irritation and desperation. “Just give me a minute!”
Before anyone could respond, another punishing impact slammed into Destiny as the other two ships joined the fight and began pummeling Destiny from the sides with the ship shuddering violently under the assault. Another console exploded in response to the attack, raining down like fiery embers, and the acrid smell of burning circuitry filled the air. The lights flickered, and warning alarms screamed across the bridge.
“Shields are down to 70%!” Volker yelled, his voice strained as he scanned the damage reports. “If this keeps up… ”
“They’ll destroy us,” Rush finished grimly, his words hanging in the air like a death knell.
“Brody, get us out of here now!” Young yelled out.
“I’m trying!” Brody yelled back in frustration as he adjusted the ship’s course to close the distance between them and the incoming ship faster. “Hold on!”
The Zevrin ships continued their assault as Destiny accelerated towards the star and the ship that stood between them. As the shields held under the barrage the crew was beginning to fray.
“Shields won’t hold if we keep taking this kind of punishment!” Rush called out.
“Brody, what are you doing?” Young yelled.
“If I can close the distant fast enough, I can get us behind that ship and into the star while the others have to change course to avoid their friend.” Brody replied loudly, “We are almost there.”
Destiny flew towards the Zevrin ship faster and faster until they were close to colliding when Brody hit the breaking thrusters and altered their course to narrowly avoid the Zevrin ship. He couldn’t help but notice that as he moved under the Zevrin ship and past them they tried to alter course in a lateral move to crash into Destiny but only just missed as Destiny cleared the ship and made its way into the outer corona of the star.
The fiery glow of the sun intensified, bathing Destiny in a harsh, golden light that filled the viewport and cast sharp, flickering shadows across the bridge. The ship’s trajectory shifted subtly, drawing it ever closer to the roiling plasma field that shimmered and twisted like molten waves. The heat radiating from the massive celestial body seemed almost palpable, a silent reminder of the peril they now faced.
On the display, the Zevrin warships hesitated, their predatory formation faltering as they adjusted their approach. Their angular frames glinted ominously in the star’s light, their blue energy veins dimming slightly as if recoiling from the overwhelming radiation.
“They’re falling back,” Scott reported, his voice steady, though a thread of relief undercut the tension. “They’re not following us in.”
“Smart,” Rush muttered, his tone clipped, his sharp gaze locked on the retreating ships. “Their vessels are larger and heavily armed, but likely less shielded against stellar radiation. They know the star’s heat and gravity will tear them apart.”
Young nodded, his features tight with caution. “Let’s not push our luck. Eli, how’s that data?” His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of urgency was unmistakable.
Eli’s fingers moved quickly over his console; his brow furrowed in concentration as lines of alien code scrolled across his screen like a relentless tide. “I’ve got some specs on their weapons and shield systems,” he said, his voice taut, his eyes fixed on the stream of data. “And I managed to grab what looks like fleet movement protocols. It’s not everything, but…” He hesitated, exhaling sharply. “It’s a start.”
The bridge remained steeped in tension, the oppressive brightness of the star casting harsh reflections across every console. The fiery light illuminated the crew’s strained faces, their expressions a mix of focus and barely restrained anxiety. Outside, the Zevrin warships hung at the star’s edge, their dark, angular forms silhouetted like predators circling a wounded animal. Each shift of their formation was deliberate, ominous, a constant reminder that they were waiting for Destiny to falter.
“Good,” Young said, his voice steady but tight with the weight of command. “Brody, give me an update on the recharge.”
Brody’s fingers darted over his console, his eyes scanning the readouts. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice edged with tension. “Just a little longer.”
The ship trembled slightly, the star’s gravitational forces pulling at Destiny with invisible hands. The shields shimmered faintly on the display, absorbing the intense radiation, but each second felt heavier than the last. Beyond the star’s reach, the Zevrin ships shifted again, their positions tightening as if preparing for the instant Destiny made its move.
“More ships are moving into an intercept formation from the other stations,” Chloe said, her voice tinged with urgency as her eyes locked onto the display. “As soon as we leave the star, they’ll be on us.”
“Not if we time it right,” Young said, his tone cutting through the tension. “Volker, be ready. The moment we finish the recharge, we jump to FTL.”
The crew braced as the hum of the recharge cycle peaked. The fiery glow of the star dimmed slightly on the viewport as Destiny angled away from its searing heat. The tension on the bridge was suffocating, the seconds stretching like hours.
“They’re moving!” Chloe called out, the urgency in her voice slicing through the silence.
Destiny’s engines roared to life as the ship began to climb, pulling away from the star’s corona. The viewport filled with a dazzling display of light, the seething plasma churning below them like a molten ocean. The shields shimmered and crackled under the star’s heat, faint waves of distortion rippling outward as the ship ascended. Every movement was deliberate, precise, there was no room for error this close to the star.
“They’ve opened fire!” Scott yelled, his eyes locked on the holographic display. Bright streaks of blue energy erupted from the Zevrin ships, hurtling through space like deadly harpoons. The first volley missed, the beams dissipating in the residual heat of the star, but the second came closer, grazing the shields with a visible burst of light.
“Shields are holding for now but they are under incredible strain!” Brody shouted, his voice tight with fear.
Destiny groaned under the strain as the third volley struck, a violent tremor rippling through the ship like the roar of an angry beast. The bridge erupted into chaos, the shrill scream of alarms cutting through the din. Warning lights strobed in frantic red, their relentless glare painting the crew’s faces in harsh, flickering shadows. Sparks rained from overloaded consoles, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning circuits.
On the display, the Zevrin warships loomed closer, their jagged, predatory forms tightening into an unyielding formation. Streaks of glowing blue energy lanced through the void, each shot cutting nearer to its target. The shimmering lines of Destiny’s shields wavered, struggling under the relentless assault. Every impact felt like a hammer blow, the ship shuddering as if it were about to come apart.
“They’re gaining on us!” Chloe’s voice broke through the cacophony, sharp and urgent, her wide eyes darting between the display and Young.
“Shields at 23%!” Brody shouted, his voice strained as he fought to stabilize the failing systems. “We won’t be able to jump to FTL if they hit us again!”
The ship lurched violently, the heat from the star still clawing at its shields as the Zevrin pressed the attack. Another barrage streaked toward them, the deadly projectiles flashing ominously on the display.
“We’re clear!” Eli yelled, his fingers hovering over the controls, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. “FTL ready!”
“Hit it!” Young roared.
In an instant, the view outside warped and twisted, the familiar pinpricks of starlight bending into a kaleidoscope of distorted brilliance as Destiny surged into FTL. The jagged silhouettes of the Zevrin warships distorted and then vanished, swallowed by the ripple of space folding around the ship. A gut-wrenching lurch accompanied the leap forward, the violent conflagration of the battle left far behind.
The oppressive red glow of the bridge lights dimmed and faded, replaced by the steady, calming hum of Destiny’s systems returning to normal. The flickering chaos gave way to a muted stillness, but the tension hung thick in the air, a quiet reminder of how close they had come to destruction.
The crew exhaled as one, the tension breaking like a wave, but the silence that followed was heavy, laden with the weight of what they had just escaped. Each face told a story of exhaustion and relief, but also of the simmering unease that lingered in the aftermath.
Volker slumped against his console, running a hand through his hair as he let out a shaky breath. “Well, that was fun,” he muttered sarcastically, though his voice lacked its usual humor. His eyes remained fixed on the sensors, as if waiting for the Zevrin to reappear at any moment.
Brody leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the armrests tightly. He forced a small laugh, though it sounded hollow. “Shields held longer than I thought they would,” he said, half to himself, before shaking his head and muttering, “Barely.”
Scott remained standing at his station, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the console. His jaw was tight, his gaze lingering on the holographic display where the Zevrin warships had been moments ago. “They weren’t playing around,” he said quietly, his voice laced with frustration. “We need more firepower.”
Greer, standing near the doorway, let out a low, calming exhale. His hand rested on the grip of his weapon, a habit born from years of combat. “We’ll handle it,” he said with quiet resolve, glancing at Young. “Next time, they won’t catch us off guard.”
Eli sat back in his chair, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline began to wear off. He stared at his console, the alien data still scrolling across the screen. “I grabbed what I could,” he said softly, his voice tinged with frustration. “But there’s so much I missed… so much we don’t understand.”
Rush remained at his station, his hands steady as they worked the controls. He didn’t look up as he spoke, his voice low and measured. “We got what we could, hopefully it will help us find a way to fend them off,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, though his furrowed brow betrayed his unease. “But they’ll be back.” His eyes remained glued to the data, as though trying to wrest more answers from the fragments Eli had retrieved.
Chloe stood behind Eli; her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes flicked between the screens and the viewport; her lips pressed into a thin line. “We’re not just running from them,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “They’re going to keep coming, no matter how far we go.”
Young nodded, standing tall at the center of the bridge. His shoulders were still tense, his jaw clenched as his gaze swept over his crew. “And next time,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the silence, “they’ll be hunting for us.”
Destiny pressed onward, its engines a steady hum against the vast quiet of space. The void ahead was no longer empty; it was filled with the promise of danger and the unrelenting shadow of the Zevrin Dominion. Behind them, the fiery remnants of their escape seemed a harbinger of the battles yet to come.
Chapter 4: The Monolith
Destiny glided silently through the vast emptiness of space; its sleek form bathed in the faint glow of distant starlight. The ship’s sensors swept the surrounding void with meticulous precision, their soft pings echoing faintly in the still air of the bridge. The ambient hum of the engines thrummed like a heartbeat, steady and reassuring, yet underscored with the tension of anticipation.
Volker leaned over his console; his brow knit in concentration as streams of data scrolled across the screen. The faint, flickering glow of the display bathed his face in shifting hues of blue and green, casting sharp shadows across his furrowed features. The occasional beep of monitoring systems punctuated the silence, each sound sharp and deliberate, as if the ship itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.
“I’ve got something,” Volker said, his voice breaking the quiet. “A planetary system up ahead, directly in our path, but it’s… odd. Not only is it not on our flight plan but there’s only one planet in orbit around the star, and its energy readings are off the charts.”
Young straightened in the command chair. “Define ‘odd,’” he said, his tone edged with caution.
“It’s like that planet we found with Kane and the others,” Volker said, his voice tinged with awe. “A young star that shouldn’t be here and a planet far too old to belong around it. Just like the other one. No way this is natural.”
Volker’s hands moved across the console tying the long-range sensors to the monitors and the display shifted to reveal the planet in stunning detail. Bathed in the golden glow of its distant star, it was a jewel in the darkness of space. Deep, emerald forests blanketed vast stretches of land, broken by ribbons of sapphire rivers that glinted like glass as they snaked toward expansive oceans. The water shimmered with crystalline clarity, reflecting wisps of soft, drifting clouds that cast gentle shadows over the vibrant terrain below. It was a world bursting with life, its harmonious landscape a stark contrast to the cold, hostile void surrounding it.
Young leaned closer to the display, his expression sharpening as he took in the details. “So, is this similar to the one we encountered before?”
Brody spoke up but not in response, “Wait a second… I’ve got something. Focusing the sensors now.” Slowly the image came into focus. There, dominating the northern hemisphere stood a monolith, a structure so out of place it seemed almost unreal against the lush paradise around it. Towering into the sky, its sleek, black surface absorbed the sunlight, its sharp angles defying the planet’s natural curves. Faint, glowing lines etched across its surface pulsed rhythmically, casting an otherworldly glow that hinted at a deeper purpose. It loomed like a silent sentinel, ancient and foreboding, its enigmatic presence a clear marker of something unnatural, something deliberate.
“Yeah. Getting readings now. It’s… identical,” Brody confirmed from his station. “Same energy readings. Same monolith structure. Even the continents seem to be in the same shape. Finding two of these systems like this, they must be connected to the origin signal. Like… trail markers.”
“We don’t know that.” Rush said, “These could be left behind by some other race chasing the signal the same as us.” He paused looking directly at Brody before shifting his gaze to Young, “The fact of the matter is… we don’t know anything about these things and we can’t just make assumptions.”
Young looked at Rush and asked, “Why didn’t we pick up any signals at the last one? The other monolith? According to all reports that one was dead. What makes this one different?”
Rush’s gazed shifted from Young to the monitors and he replied, “Well, I would say it was because the last time we made contact with one of these we didn’t have access to the bridge or the full availability of the sensors. Now, we can perform full sweeps that weren’t possible when Kane and the others went down to that planet.”
Young looked at Rush and straightened, his decision swift. “Alright, we check it out. Set a course for the planet. I want a team ready to head down as soon as we’re in range.” He turned toward the rest of the bridge crew. “If there’s even a chance this is tied to the signal, we’re not passing it up. Let’s move.” As the crew begin moving he added, “But I want long range sensors set to maximum sensitivity, if any Zevrin ships come close we get our team out and run like hell.”
Rush nodded his agreement as Volker began doing sweeps with the long-range sensors. Brody adjusted their course and Destiny moved towards the planet as Lt. Scott and Sgt. Greer made their way to the shuttle craft with Rush, Eli, and Chloe following closely behind. The hum of Destiny’s engines deepened as the ship adjusted its trajectory, the vibrant planet growing larger on the display, its lush surface drawing closer with every passing moment.
As they closed in on the planet, the bridge lights dimmed slightly, casting long shadows across the crew’s faces. The forward displays flickered with sensor readouts, painting the star-filled void in pulsing waves of data. Volker leaned in over his console, eyes scanning the incoming telemetry with growing intensity.
“Long-range scans active,” he announced. “No immediate signs of hostiles… but there’s a lot of interference. The atmosphere on that planet is throwing up magnetic distortions like a stormfront.”
“Could be natural,” Brody muttered, not sounding convinced. “Or it could be masking something.”
Young crossed the bridge with slow, deliberate steps, arms folded as he studied the shimmering silhouette of the planet on the main display. “Run a full sweep. I want to know what’s hiding behind that static before anyone leaves the ship.”
Volker tapped at his console, frowning at the feedback loop crawling across his screen. “There’s something down there,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Not tech… not exactly. But it’s structured. Could be coming from the monolith.”
Brody’s voice, quiet and sharp, cut through the chatter. “If the Zevrin are tracking these transmissions, they may already be en route.”
Young didn’t flinch. “Then we get in and out before they arrive.” Then turning to Volker, “Keep a close eye on the long-range sensors.” Outside, Destiny slipped into orbit, its golden hull catching the light of the distant star as it moved into position. The planet loomed below, vibrant, enigmatic, and possibly lethal.
In the shuttle, final checks echoed through the comms, the air thick with anticipation. The away team loaded aboard in practiced silence, Scott at the helm, Greer double-checking weapons, Eli clutching his tablet like a lifeline, Chloe and Rush already locked in a quiet debate about signal harmonics.
From the bridge, Colonel Young stood with arms folded, watching the shuttle status display flicker to green. “You’ve got the best eyes and minds on this crew,” he said into the open channel, his voice calm but resolute. “Stick to the mission. If it even smells like a trap, pull back. We’ve had enough close calls.”
Scott’s voice crackled back, steady and sure. “Understood, sir. We’ll keep it tight.”
Young allowed the faintest trace of a smile. “Godspeed… and good luck. Bring back something worth all this trouble.”
The shuttle powered up and detached from Destiny. Slowly, Scott angled them towards the planet revealing the curve of the alien world below. The engines flared to life, then steadied into a low hum as the craft eased out into space, banking toward the surface. On the bridge, Young remained silent, eyes locked on the shrinking form of the craft as it descended into the atmosphere.
The shuttle’s engines emitted a steady, rhythmic hum, vibrating faintly through the cabin as Scott expertly guided the craft toward the planet below. Through the viewport, the lush, vibrant world unfolded, its emerald forests and sapphire oceans stretching out like a living canvas. The monolith loomed ever larger with each passing moment, its sharp, angular form cutting a stark silhouette against the planet’s verdant beauty. The faint glow of its etched lines pulsed rhythmically, as if alive, drawing the crew’s eyes despite their unease.
Inside the shuttle, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Each crew member sat in tense silence; their focus honed on the task ahead. Rush leaned forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the monolith, his hands gripping the edges of his seat as if bracing for the unknown. Beside him, Eli adjusted his tablet, his fingers fidgeting nervously over the interface. Chloe sat rigid, her arms crossed, her gaze darting between the viewport and the readouts, her lips pressed into a thin line.
In the back, Greer inspected his rifle with meticulous care, the faint clicks of his movements slicing through the low, steady hum of the engines. His calm expression betrayed no anxiety, only the sharp focus of a soldier prepared for whatever was waiting below. His grip on the weapon was firm but relaxed, his posture radiating readiness.
Rush leaned forward, his sharp eyes locked on the monolith as it grew larger in the viewport. “If this structure is tied to the origin signal, it could contain critical data, perhaps even a map leading us to its source.” His tone carried equal parts excitement and tension.
Eli, seated beside him, frowned and adjusted the readouts on his tablet. “Or it could just broadcast our exact location to every Zevrin ship in the galaxy,” he muttered, his unease clear in his voice.
“That’s why we’re here,” Chloe said, her tone calm but resolute. She glanced at Eli, her gaze steady. “To figure it out before they do.”
Greer let out a faint chuckle, smirking as he rested the rifle across his lap. “And to make sure nobody gets shot or eaten while they’re doing all that figuring,” he said, his voice light but his meaning serious.
As the shuttle descended, the massive monolith dominated their view, its sheer scale dwarfing the lush terrain below. Scott eased the shuttle down gently, the landing struts sinking slightly into the soft earth. The hydraulics hissed as the engines powered down, leaving a brief, eerie silence that only heightened the weight of what lay ahead.
The away team disembarked cautiously, stepping onto the planet’s surface and taking in the sight before them. The monolith towered above, its immense form reaching toward the sky like a sentinel from an ancient era. Its smooth, reflective surface shimmered faintly, catching the light of the distant star. Intricate, glowing lines etched across its structure pulsed in a steady rhythm, each beat matching the scans they’d seen aboard Destiny. The air around it felt charged, as if the monolith itself was alive, waiting for their approach.
“This thing’s massive,” Scott said, his voice tinged with awe as he craned his neck to take in the towering monolith. “It looked big from the flight in, but here, this close… it’s overwhelming.”
Greer kept his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance. “Feels like a trap just waiting to spring. I don’t trust it.”
Rush was already engrossed, his handheld device emitting soft beeps as he swept it over the structure. “There’s a concentration of energy on the lower side,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “High-density readings, possibly some kind of power core. Let’s move.”
The team moved cautiously around the base of the monolith, boots crunching softly against the alien soil. As they neared its underside, faint lines carved into the obsidian surface began to stir with light, pale at first, then brighter with every step. The glow pulsed in slow, deliberate waves, as if the structure were awakening, sensing their presence.
They halted instinctively, weapons and scanners half-raised, the silence around them broken only by the low hum now rising from within the stone.
Chloe stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the luminous patterns. As she crossed an invisible threshold, the glow surged brighter, casting her face in a soft blue-white sheen. She turned back to the group, voice low and wary. “The last monolith never did this. It was inert, just etchings we couldn’t interpret. This one… it’s reacting.”
Eli dropped to a crouch beside Rush, running his fingers just above the smooth, glasslike surface without touching it. The glowing lines shifted beneath his hand, rearranging subtly in response. “These aren’t just carvings,” he murmured, awestruck. “It’s an interface. Some kind of interactive system, way more advanced than what we saw before.”
Rush leaned in, eyes narrowed. “It’s not just listening,” he said. “It’s waiting.” He crouched beside Eli, his gaze locked on the shifting glow. “The first monolith gave us nothing… just dead stone and unanswered questions. We didn’t have the tools, the time, or the power to dig deeper.” His voice tightened, edged with both frustration and awe. “But this one… this one’s engaging. If we’re careful, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been chasing since we boarded Destiny and discovered its mission.”
Chloe stepped forward, her eyes scanning the intricate symbols. “But we still don’t know if this is tied to the origin signal, or if it’s just another ancient artifact from another species. What if it’s completely unrelated?”
Rush glanced at her briefly, his expression firm. “And what if it is tied to the origin signal? Are you suggesting we walk away without knowing?”
Scott frowned, his grip tightening on his weapon. “We’re suggesting we don’t do anything reckless. We don’t know what this thing is… or what it can do.”
Eli sighed, pulling out his small tablet to link it with Rush’s scanner. “Look, we can try to figure out how it works without actually activating it. These symbols look like they’re part of some kind of sequence, like a puzzle or a lock. Maybe if we just… interpret it correctly, we can access it safely.”
Greer smirked faintly, his eyes never leaving the surrounding terrain. “You brainy types figure it out. I’ll keep us from getting shot while you do.”
Chloe knelt beside Eli, carefully studying the glowing symbols. “They’re definitely a sequence,” she said, her voice calm but focused. “If we’re careful, we might be able to decipher it without triggering anything dangerous.”
The hours wore on beneath the shadow of the monolith.
The team worked with grim determination, the pulsing light bathing them in an ever-shifting glow. As the alien sun dipped toward the horizon, the monolith’s symbols grew brighter, casting spectral reflections across the dense undergrowth and the tense lines of every face.
Rush and Eli crouched near the base, their quiet debate unfolding in bursts, quick volleys of theory and counterpoint, each trying to decode the shifting interface. Frustration simmered beneath their words, but so did a shared exhilaration. Whatever this was, it wasn’t inert. It was reacting. Scott and Greer patrolled the area while maintaining hourly check-ins with Destiny.
Chloe circled slowly, her gaze sweeping the etched surface. “These patterns repeat,” she murmured at one point, brushing her gloved fingers across a spiraling configuration near the rear quadrant. “Not randomly. It’s like a cadence. A rhythm.”
Rush looked up sharply, eyes gleaming. “Yes… not a language, then, a sequence. It’s responding to presence, maybe even emotional state.”
Greer stood watch nearby, weapon lowered but ready, his eyes scanning the tree line even as he muttered, “Let’s just hope it doesn’t respond to paranoia.”
The air grew heavier with each passing hour, dense and charged, like the static before a lightning strike. The monolith’s pulse had become slower now, deeper, as if it had learned their presence, and was waiting for something else. Something more.
“This could be it,” Eli said finally, his fingers hovering over the last glowing symbol. “If we’re right, this should open some kind of interface.”
“Or it could alert every Zevrin ship in the area with some kind of signal or surge,” Scott muttered.
Rush shot him a sharp look. “We won’t get answers by standing here debating. This is why we’re here… to take risks and find the truth. It’s literally why the Stargate program exists.”
Scott exhaled through his nose and tapped his comm. “Destiny, this is Lieutenant Scott. We’ve completed our research; the monolith’s active and responding to proximity. We’re preparing to initiate some kind of interface.”
A pause crackled over the line, then Young’s voice came through, calm but firm. “Understood. We’re still clear, no signs of Zevrin activity on scans. Proceed, but stay sharp. If that thing lights up the sky, I want you back on the shuttle immediately.”
“Copy that,” Scott said, glancing at Eli and giving a slight nod.
Eli hesitated, his hand hovering over the glowing symbol as he glanced between Chloe and Rush. The weight of the moment pressed down on him like gravity. “Alright,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he touched the symbols in sequence. “Here goes nothing…” With a steady breath, he pressed the final symbol.
The effect was immediate. The glowing lines on the monolith flared to life, their brightness spreading in a cascading wave across its surface. The air seemed to vibrate, a deep, resonant hum rising around them. It was a sound that wasn’t just heard, it was felt, a low-frequency thrum that seemed to echo in their chests. The surface of the monolith began to shimmer, waves of energy rippling outward like heat distortion.
Then, with a sudden brilliance that made everyone shield their eyes, a sharp pulse of light erupted from the monolith’s apex. The beam shot skyward with terrifying precision, cutting through the atmosphere and disappearing into the void above. For a brief moment, the surrounding air crackled, charged with static.
Greer stepped back instinctively, his grip tightening on his weapon. “Uh… was that supposed to happen?” he asked, his voice taut with unease.
Eli’s handheld device beeped rapidly, his eyes darting across the screen. “Energy readings just spiked,” he said, his voice climbing. “It’s… it’s transmitting.”
Rush’s head snapped toward Eli, his expression a mix of excitement and vindication. “Transmitting? Let me see!” He leaned in, his gaze locking onto the data streaming across Eli’s device. A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his face. “Look at this frequency… it matches the origin signal exactly.”
Chloe’s voice cut through the rising tension, her tone sharp. “If it’s transmitting, then who… or what… is receiving it?”
The group exchanged uneasy glances, the hum of the monolith still vibrating in the air as its pulsing glow continued, casting long, flickering shadows across the ground.
A sudden, searing brilliance engulfed Destiny, flooding through the observation windows and bathing the ship in an intense, golden light. The radiant beam emanating from the planet below and pierced the blackness of space, it enveloped everything in its path. For a few blinding moments, the void seemed alive with shimmering patterns, the pulse of the monolith’s energy radiating outward in waves.
Crew members who happened to glance outside shielded their eyes instinctively, squinting against the overwhelming glare. The interior lighting dimmed automatically in response, casting the bridge in eerie half-shadow. The brilliance faded slowly, leaving the faint ghost of its glow lingering across the ship’s exterior and the retinas of those who had witnessed it.
On the bridge, Volker’s console flared to life with a sudden burst of activity, the screens flooding with lines of data that scrolled too fast to follow. A subtle vibration ran through the ship, like a distant thunderclap reverberating through the hull. Volker straightened, his eyes widening as the readings spiked. “We’re receiving something!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of Destiny’s systems.
Brody quickly moved to his station, his fingers flying over the controls as he brought up the incoming signal. The display filled with alien symbols, patterns that pulsed and shifted like they were alive. His brow furrowed as he leaned in, his expression caught somewhere between exhilaration and dread. “It’s a small packet of encrypted data,” he said, his voice tinged with urgency. “And it’s tied to the origin signal.”
Young turned sharply, his gaze locking onto Brody. “Can you decode it?” His tone was clipped, every syllable carrying the weight of their precarious situation.
Brody shook his head, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Not yet. The encryption is… advanced. But it’s definitely meant for us. The signal is tuned specifically to Destiny’s systems.”
Volker chimed in, his voice quieter but no less tense. “It’s like it knew we were here… waiting.”
Young’s jaw tightened, his mind racing through possibilities. “Great,” he muttered, pacing a step closer to the center console. “Now we just have to hope the Zevrin didn’t catch that.”
Brody’s hands hovered over his controls, hesitating for a moment. “If they did,” he said cautiously, “and this signal is as important as it looks… they’ll be coming. Fast.”
The bridge fell into an uneasy silence, the hum of the ship suddenly louder in the absence of voices. On the central holographic display, the incoming signal’s faint traces glowed, casting shifting patterns of light onto the tense faces of the crew. Outside the viewport, the serene expanse of space offered no comfort, only the looming possibility of imminent danger.
That silence was shattered by another alert, this one sharp and insistent. Volker’s hands darted over his console as new readings appeared. His voice cut through the tension, rising in alarm. “Long-range sensors just picked up movement, several ships entering the system’s outer edge.”
Brody leaned over, his face growing pale as he analyzed the data. “It’s them. Zevrin warships. At least three, and they’re turning toward us.”
Young’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he strode to the center console. “How long until they reach us?”
Volker scanned the display, his voice tight with urgency. “At their current speed? Thirty minutes, maybe less.”
“Looks like they picked up the signal,” Brody added grimly. “Or they were already looking for it.”
Young turned to the crew on the bridge, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get me a status report on the shuttle team. Volker, keep tracking those ships. Brody, prep the FTL drive. We’re not sticking around for a welcoming party.”
The faint pulse of the signal on the display seemed to mock them, a beacon not just to answers but also to danger. Outside, the serene beauty of the planet and its star faded into the background, overshadowed by the ominous realization that the Zevrin were closing in, and fast.
Back on the planet, chaos erupted as the monolith’s glow surged, bathing the team in an unearthly light that pulsed with an almost living intensity. The ground beneath their feet seemed to hum, and shadows stretched and twisted unnaturally across the terrain. Rush’s device buzzed incessantly, streams of data flooding its tiny screen. Eli stared at his own readings; his face caught between awe and rising panic.
“These readings are amazing!” Eli exclaimed, his voice cracking. “It’s definitely transmitting something… this is huge!”
Rush barely looked up, his attention fixed on the glowing lines of data. “We’ve triggered… something. It’s accessing layers of information we can’t even… ”
“Whatever we triggered,” Scott interrupted, his voice sharp, “it’s time to leave. Now!”
Scott’s radio crackled to life, Young’s voice cutting through with an edge of urgency. “What the hell did you do down there? Destiny just received a data burst from that thing, and now we’ve got Zevrin ships en route to your position! Scouts are ahead of the fleet, and they’re moving fast towards the planet.”
Scott keyed his radio. “Copy that, Colonel. We’re heading out.” He turned to the others, voice clipped and commanding. “Let’s move. Now.”
No one hesitated. Gear was snatched up with practiced efficiency, the team falling into motion without a word. Greer took the rear, weapon raised, eyes scanning the canopy above with a hunter’s vigilance, as if expecting Zevrin ships to scream through the clouds at any second. The tension followed them every step of the way, thick as smoke.
The team scrambled aboard and moments later the shuttle roared to life, its engines kicking up a cloud of dust as it lifted off. Rush still furiously scanning the data on his device as the ship ascended. Below, the monolith’s glow dimmed slightly, the intense transmission tapering off, but its presence still loomed like a silent threat.
“They’re closing in fast!” Chloe called out from the co-pilot seat, her eyes glued to the shuttle’s display. Bright red markers representing Zevrin scout ships darted across the screen, streaking through the planet’s upper atmosphere like predators zeroing in on their prey.
Scott pushed the shuttle’s engines to their limit, the vibrations rattling through the cabin as the craft climbed toward orbit. The roar of the engines filled the small space, a stark contrast to the tense silence of the team inside. Greer sat with his rifle ready, his gaze locked on the viewport, calm but razor-focused. “Let’s hope the ship’s ready for this.”
The shuttle broke through the atmosphere, the dark expanse of space stretching out before them, but the distant glint of Zevrin ships was already visible, closing in like shadows swallowing the light.
Destiny loomed ahead like a steadfast guardian, its silhouette sharp and angular against the endless backdrop of glittering stars. The ship’s lights glinted faintly, a beacon of safety amidst the oppressive darkness of space.
On the bridge, Young’s voice crackled over the comms, tense but composed. “We’ve got you on approach. Zevrin ships are closing in… dock fast.”
Inside the shuttle, Scott’s hands gripped the controls with precision, his eyes locked on Destiny as the shuttle raced forward. Behind them, the Zevrin scout ships surged into view, their predatory forms lit with faint, pulsing blue veins of energy that coursed across their jagged hulls like veins of fire. Their engines flared brightly, propelling them forward with menacing speed.
“Their weapons are powering up,” Chloe said sharply, her voice cutting through the tense air as the shuttle’s sensors registered the escalating threat.
Outside the viewport, the Zevrin scout ships prowled closer, their glowing energy arrays flaring with an ominous, rhythmic intensity. The angular vessels bristled with menace, their movements deliberate and precise, like wolves tightening their circle around doomed prey. Blue energy veins pulsed brighter across their hulls as their weapons fired multiple volleys.
The energy blasts slammed into the shuttle’s shields and jarred them slightly off course for a moment. Scott gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the shuttle’s controls with unrelenting focus. “Hold on!” he barked, his voice sharp over the roar of the engines. The craft vibrated violently as it strained against the limits of its design, every system pushed to the edge. “We’re not getting caught out here.”
“Come on, come on,” Eli muttered, his knuckles white as he clung to the armrest of his seat. Each passing second felt like an eternity, the tension in the cabin thick enough to suffocate.
“Scott, this is Colonel Young, get ready to begin docking procedures, angle upward and then right as you drop towards the ship, we will open fire as you get clear.”
“Copy that, sir. Altering course and preparing to dive and spin.” Scott clicked several of the controls into place and called out, “Hold on, this is gonna be rough!”
Destiny’s docking port came into view, a crucial lifeline amid the oppressive darkness of space. Scott adjusted their angle with precision, he brought them up slightly and right as the scout ships followed them, he reversed the drives and dropped towards the docking skid as he spun the shuttle around hard, bringing the shuttle into alignment with the airlock. The Zevrin scouts adjusted their course in pursuit when each of the them exploded brilliantly as Destiny’s defense cannons fired now that the shuttle was clear.
With a gut-wrenching jolt, the shuttle slammed into the docking port base and slid into place with a grinding halt, the metallic clunk of the seal engaging reverberating through the cabin. The vibrations of the engines faded as Scott shut them down, but the tension only mounted.
“We’re connected!” Scott yelled into the comms. “Secure for FTL, sir!”
As the team scrambled to disengage, the first Zevrin shots struck Destiny’s shields with bone-rattling force. The ship rocked under the assault, alarms blaring across the bridge as energy waves rippled across the hull.
“They’re firing!” Chloe shouted, glancing at the Zevrin ships on the shuttle’s tactical display. “They’re coming in hot!”
On the bridge, Young shouted into the comms, sharp and commanding. “Copy that! Status, Brody?”
Brody’s hands flew over his console, the flickering red of warning lights casting deep shadows across his face. “Shields are holding, for now.” he stated over the blaring alarms. “If those other ships get here to join the fight… they’ll fail. We need to jump… now!”
Through the viewport, the Zevrin ships surged closer, their predatory forms slicing through the void with terrifying precision. The glowing energy veins across their hulls pulsed faster, brighter, an accelerating rhythm like the heartbeat of a relentless predator closing in for the kill.
“They’re charging weapons again!” Volker yelled, his eyes fixed on the display. “Impact in ten seconds!”
“Engage!” Young ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Destiny’s engines roared to life, their familiar, low hum escalating into a powerful crescendo. The ship trembled briefly before launching into faster-than-light travel with a sudden, bone-jarring surge. The stars outside distorted, bending into brilliant, kaleidoscopic patterns before stretching into an infinite tunnel of light. The pursuing Zevrin ships vanished, swallowed by the void they had narrowly escaped.
On the bridge, the alarms silenced, and the hum of the engines settled into its usual steady rhythm. The flickering red warning lights dimmed, leaving the crew bathed in the soft glow of the central holographic display. A collective breath of relief filled the room, but the tension lingered, hanging in the air like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.
Young straightened at the command console, his jaw tight as he stared at the empty expanse ahead. “Good work, everyone,” he said, his voice calm but edged with the weight of what they had just escaped.
Brody leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face as the tension in his shoulders slowly eased. “That was too close,” he muttered under his breath.
Before the brief relief could settle, Volker’s console chirped sharply. He leaned forward, squinting at the scrolling data. His voice cut through the low hum of the bridge. “Uh… Colonel? We’ve got a problem. Our comms system was… accessed. For forty-nine seconds, right before we jumped.”
Young’s head snapped toward him, his tone instantly sharp. “Accessed by who?”
Volker’s fingers danced over the keys, chasing the data, his face pale in the glow of the monitor. “The Zevrin. It looks like they slipped a connection through the background traffic. I’m reading a handshake on the encrypted channel we were using to monitor the monolith.”
Young took a slow, measured breath, the weight of the words settling over the bridge like lead. “What did they do?”
“I… don’t know,” Volker admitted, his voice tight with frustration. “It was quick, clean. No obvious data loss or system compromise that I can see, but… they were in our comms system long enough to do something.”
A tense silence followed, the hum of Destiny’s engines the only sound as the implications settled in.
Young nodded grimly, his gaze locked on the endless stars beyond the viewport. The shadow of the monolith, and the Zevrin’s relentless pursuit, remained, an ever-present reminder of the dangers ahead. Destiny pressed on, its course unchanging, but the crew knew all too well that their reprieve was only temporary.
Chapter 5: Homeworld Command
The conference room at Homeworld Command carried the familiar weight of tension, the air thick with recycled coolness and the faint hum of secure systems. Colonel Everett Young and Camille Wray sat in borrowed bodies at the long table, shoulders squared, the slight disorientation from the communication stones fading as their surroundings sharpened into focus. The flags of the Stargate nations lined the walls, a silent reminder of how many interests were tethered to the ship they called home.
General Samantha Carter leaned forward at the head of the table, hands clasped, calm but alert. Behind her, the inevitable assembly, an Atlantis liaison with a tablet, an Alpha Site logistics officer, a few faces from the dwindling S.G.C., and the always-watchful I.O.A. pair, whose expressions hovered somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
“Colonel Young, Ms. Wray,” Carter said, her voice even. “Good to see you both. Let’s get started. Where do we stand?”
Young exhaled slowly. “We’ve continued our search for a Seed Ship. No luck so far. We’ve followed every trace in the nav records and even diverted twice to investigate possible derelicts, nothing we could use.” He paused, his jaw tight. “Fuel efficiency is fine. Power reserves are stable. But without a Seed Ship, we’re still stranded on our current course.”
Camille glanced at him and then picked up the thread. “In the process, we’ve made first contact with a faction that call themselves the Zevrin Dominion.” Her voice carried a measured weight, each syllable chosen with care. “They control a large cluster of systems on our current path. Highly territorial, and very clear that they see Destiny as a potential target.”
Young chimed in with, “There are also no stargates on our current path.” Carter and everyone in the room shifted slightly as the Colonel continued, “We believe that these Zevrin removed or destroyed the gates in their galaxy. The Seed Ships laid out the path and Destiny is following the path, but we have no supply line other than the replication system Eli built while we were asleep. It’s clear that they’re hostile, and they are a threat.”
The I.O.A. representative from Russia leaned forward, his accent sharpening his skepticism. “Define ‘threat.’ Did they fire on you?”
Young’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Not without provocation. Our first encounter was with a probe of theirs. We approached it and began scanning it to find out what it was and where it came from in the hopes that it might have some data on any Seed Ships moving through the region. That was when one of their patrol ships scanned us and then attacked… aggressively. They made their stance clear: outsiders aren’t welcome. We avoided a firefight, but… it was close.”
Carter’s brow furrowed, her tone turning more analytical. “Technologically, where do they stand?”
Wray shook her head. “Roughly on par with pre-Replicator Asgard tech. Not advanced enough to be an existential threat to Destiny, but coordinated, disciplined, and possess a strong regional hold. And they’re paranoid. Any repeated encounters could escalate quickly.”
Young continued. “We ran into them twice more after that. First, they chased us through a nebula, they tried surrounding us but ended up losing ships to the gravity anomalies in the cloud, we barely got away ourselves. The second time, they intercepted a shuttle team on a research mission. Scott got the shuttle back to the ship and we jumped away before any real fight, but we got the message: they’re watching. They want us gone.”
The U.S. I.O.A. member leaned forward, his tone clipped. “And what exactly is your plan if they decide to escalate? We can’t send reinforcements across the universe at a moment’s notice.”
Young didn’t flinch. “We avoid conflict if we can. Destiny can take a punch, but I won’t risk the ship or my people in a fight we don’t need. Right now, our goal hasn’t changed, locate a Seed ship, stabilize our route, and find a way to safely dial home.”
Camille added, softer, “But every delay brings more risk. The longer we’re stuck in this region, the more attention we’ll draw. We’re already the subject of a space wide hunt by another group of religious zealots. We’re a moving target in a quiet sector.”
Carter listened in silence for a long moment, absorbing every word. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm. “You’re in uncharted territory, and now you’ve stumbled into someone else’s backyard. If the Zevrin Dominion sees you as a threat, then you will just have to make sure you’re more trouble than it’s worth chasing you. Avoid conflict whenever possible but be ready for it. We’ll review any data you can send on their ships, weapons, and communications. The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be if… or when… things go bad.”
The I.O.A. members exchanged a look, one jotting down notes while the other murmured something in Mandarin too low for the room to catch.
Young’s hands tightened briefly on the edge of the table. “We’ll keep feeding you updates. For now, Destiny’s holding together. But the clock is ticking. Without a Seed ship, without reinforcements, we’re one unexpected hit away from another crisis.”
Carter nodded. “Then stay sharp.” The weight of her words wasn’t lost on anyone in the room, or on the two borrowed bodies sitting light-years from the ship they actually called home.
The second briefing room at Homeworld Command was smaller, windowless, and lined with polished screens that reflected the faint light of the overhead panels. It was a space built for specialists, the kind of room where decisions were made in numbers and schematics rather than emotions.
Dr. Nicholas Rush blinked against the subtle disorientation as the communication stones took hold, transferring his consciousness from Destiny to the borrowed body waiting in the SGC. He hated the transition, the alien sense of occupying a frame that wasn’t his own, but he barely gave it a moment before his eyes were scanning the room.
Seated at the table were some of Earth’s finest minds and its most exasperating bureaucrats: Dr. Rodney McKay, already tapping a pen impatiently against the table; Dr. Radek Zelenka, adjusting his glasses with quiet precision; Dr. Bill Lee, who gave Rush an encouraging, if slightly nervous, nod; General Samantha Carter, calm as ever; and a pair of I.O.A. representatives whose expressions were already hovering in judgment.
“Well,” McKay started, his voice rising with his usual mix of irritation and anticipation, “you certainly took your time getting back to us. We’ve been waiting hours for an update on this so-called ‘Dominion’ you stumbled into. And the last report we got said you were playing chicken with patrol ships. Care to explain how you haven’t gotten yourselves blown to pieces yet?”
Rush dropped into his seat with a slow exhale, his fingers brushing the tabletop like he needed the contact to ground himself. “By exercising restraint, Doctor. A novel concept, I know.” He leaned forward, fixing McKay with a look that was equal parts irritation and fatigue. “Everything the crew has on the Zevrin has already been input into your servers. Ship schematics, weapon signatures, FTL patterns, they’re thorough and disciplined, not a galaxy-spanning threat that we know of, but absolutely territorial.”
Zelenka keyed the console, and the holographic array hummed to life, throwing a cold light across the conference table. Slowly, a Zevrin warship took form above the polished surface, its sharp, predatory silhouette rotating in the air. The hull was all angles and armored ridges, the design both alien and purposeful. Along the flanks, the tri-lobed insignia flickered faintly, painstakingly reproduced from Rush’s sketches and Eli’s observations during past encounters.
Radek adjusted his glasses, stepping closer to the table. “This model is the best reconstruction we can manage based on your descriptions and logs entered through the stones,” he said, his accent curling through the words. “No telemetry, no raw scans, of course… just what you have remembered and reported. We fed it all through the Asgard core to fill in structural logic where possible.”
The projection split open, revealing a lattice of likely compartments, conjectured reactor locations, and weapons hardpoints. “This is as close as we can estimate to an internal layout. Hull density, engine vectoring, likely power conduits… all extrapolated from your first-hand accounts. But even with these gaps,” he gestured to the glowing schematic, “the picture is clear: compartmentalized design, strong defensive bias, and an emphasis on formation tactics. A disciplined, territorial species. Maybe not a galaxy-spanning power, at least, not yet, but extremely dangerous within their claimed space.”
The hologram spun lazily in the air, cold light glinting off the faces of Carter, McKay, and the I.O.A. delegates. Without real data, everything here was an educated guess, but the shape of the threat was clear enough to make the room go quiet.
“They favor concentrated energy arrays here and here,” Rush continued, gesturing toward the forward and ventral hulls. “Comparable to early Asgard plasma weapons in output but lacking efficiency. Their FTL is stuttered, short bursts rather than continuous travel, which explains how they appeared and vanished on us so quickly.”
McKay leaned closer to the hologram, squinting. “And yet they almost got the drop on you? You’re telling me these space amateurs nearly outmaneuvered Destiny?”
Rush’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “When you’re outnumbered six to one and attempting to avoid a diplomatic incident, you don’t exactly start firing to prove a point. They have home-field advantage. We have… a ship older than every civilization they’ve ever heard of. It’s a delicate balance.”
The I.O.A. representative from China crossed her arms, her tone sharp. “And yet you ventured into their space knowing nothing about them. A pattern of recklessness continues, Dr. Rush. You’ve put a multi-trillion-dollar asset at risk again.”
Rush’s jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, his silence was its own statement. Carter’s gaze flicked to him, a subtle warning not to take the bait.
“I’m doing my job,” he said finally, voice measured but edged. “Destiny is a research vessel. Its mission hasn’t changed. We investigate signals, we follow the path, and we survive along the way. The Zevrin were an obstacle, not a choice. And if we hadn’t learned their patrol routes, we’d be dealing with much more than a few close calls.”
Dr. Lee cleared his throat, stepping in with a soft tone that cut through the tension. “I, uh, reviewed the preliminary logs Eli sent last visit. There’s also something… fascinating in the sensor telemetry from those encounters. The Zevrin were scanning Destiny repeatedly. I think they detected the anomalous energy signature you’ve been chasing… the one tied to Destiny’s original mission.”
Rush’s eyes lit briefly with the thrill of understanding. “Exactly. They’re aware of something. Whether they understand the signal or just fear it, I can’t say. But the pattern of their patrols, the way they avoid certain sectors, it all lines up with the path Destiny’s been on for months. They’re orbiting the same mystery we are, whether they know it or not.”
McKay leaned back in his chair, frowning. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling us that in addition to poking territorial hornets’ nests, you’re also chasing a signal that local powers treat like a message from God. Brilliant.”
Rush leaned forward, his voice calm but unyielding. “It’s why the ship exists, Doctor. It’s why we’re all here, whether any of you care to admit it or not. The answer to that signal is bigger than the Zevrin, bigger than these briefings, and frankly, bigger than the I.O.A.’s paperwork. And we’re going to find it.”
A beat of silence followed, broken by the sharp voice of the Russian I.O.A. delegate. “You speak of purpose and destiny, Doctor, but let us not forget, you are the one who stranded these people on a decrypt ship halfway across the universe. You destroyed any chance of returning home the moment you forced them to go through the gate to the ninth chevron address instead of the Alpha Site as per protocol.”
The American I.O.A. representative leaned in, his tone clipped. “You cut Earth out of the loop from the beginning. That reckless stunt put every one of these men and women in mortal danger, and now you want to lecture us about ‘purpose’ while dancing on the edge of war with a hostile power? You’ve left us no choice but to expect you to fix this. You owe them that. You owe all of us that.”
Rush’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling against the edge of the table. “And if I hadn’t done what I did, none of us would be alive right now. You think this is about me indulging some obsession? I made a call when no one else could, and we’re here because of it. Destiny is fulfilling her mission, our mission, despite your committees and your fear.”
McKay gave a derisive snort. “Oh, please. You call it a mission. Most of us would call it survival by sheer stubbornness and luck.”
Rush opened his mouth to retort, the spark of fury rising behind his eyes, but Carter’s voice cut through the tension with the quiet authority of command.
“That’s enough,” she said, her tone level but firm. “We’re not here to relitigate the past. What’s done is done. Right now, every decision we make has to serve one goal: keeping the crew alive and bringing them home if and when the opportunity comes. Dr. Rush, you’ve made it clear where you stand. But you need to understand, every risk you take reverberates here on Earth. Every choice you make has consequences for people far beyond that ship.”
Rush’s borrowed body leaned back in the chair, lips curling into a faint, tired smirk, though his eyes burned with restrained defiance. “Protection’s never been our luxury, General. Survival is.”
The hologram of the Zevrin warship continued to rotate in the cold light above the table, a stark reminder of just how thin the line between exploration and annihilation had become.
The observation deck was quiet except for the low hum of Destiny’s systems and the faint vibration of the deck plates under their feet. The stars drifted past the viewport in a slow, endless crawl, their light catching on the scuffed metal and casting pale reflections on the glass. Colonel Everett Young stood with his arms folded, his jaw set, watching the infinite dark as though it might offer answers.
Footsteps echoed lightly behind him, and he didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Eli Wallace came to stand beside him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his new purple hoodie, his posture caught somewhere between casual and nervous. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was filled with the soft thrum of engines and the distant murmur of life aboard the ship.
“So…” Eli started, rocking back on his heels. “That went… well?”
Young huffed a short, humorless laugh. “If by ‘well’ you mean the I.O.A. thinks we’re reckless, Homeworld Command wants results yesterday, and we’re no closer to finding a Seed ship than we were a month ago… then yeah. Stellar performance.”
Eli winced. “Right. Well… we didn’t die. That counts for something, right?”
Young turned his head slightly, finally giving him a sidelong glance. “You ever notice that’s become our standard of success? ‘Did we die today?’” He shook his head and leaned forward against the railing. “I can’t keep selling that to Earth forever. They want progress. They want victories they can put in a report. Not just survival.”
“Yeah,” Eli said softly. He stared out at the stars, tracing the faint trail of a nebula far in the distance. “And it’s not like they really get what it’s like out here. We’re living it. They’re just… watching numbers on a screen.” He hesitated, then added, “And… you know… holding our leash.”
Young gave him a dry look. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like Rush.”
Eli grinned faintly. “Hey, if I start yelling about destiny with a capital D, you have permission to push me out an airlock.”
Young let the humor fade, his voice dropping to that quiet, tired register Eli recognized all too well. “I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep all of this balanced. Earth wants more than I can give. The crew’s running on fumes. And every time I think about what’s waiting out there…” He gestured toward the dark expanse beyond the glass. “I wonder if I’m asking too much of all of you.”
Eli was quiet for a beat, then straightened, his voice more certain than his usual self-effacing tone. “You’re not. You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do. You keep us alive. You keep us moving forward. That’s enough. It has to be enough.”
Young studied him for a moment, then nodded once, letting the words settle. The boy who had once been a nervous genius on his mother’s couch now spoke like someone who had seen too much and kept going anyway.
“Thanks, Eli,” he said finally, his voice rough but sincere.
They stood together in silence after that, two figures against the backdrop of the universe, the weight of command and survival suspended for just a moment in the endless dark.
Chapter 6: The Zevrin Ultimatum
The low, steady hum of Destiny’s engines reverberated softly through the ship, a familiar rhythm that offered a fleeting sense of stability amidst the vast, empty expanse of space. Chloe sat alone at the central console on the bridge, her fingers lightly tapping against the edge of her station, her eyes kept drifting to the long-range sensor readings while looking into the communication system breach.
Her console emitted a soft beep, breaking the silence. Chloe’s gaze snapped to the display as a new signal appeared, its frequency flashing an ominous alert. Her brow furrowed, recognition dawning as she cross-referenced the data. It was identical to the frequency transmitted by the monolith. Her fingers flew over the controls, adjusting the settings to isolate and amplify the signal. Static filled the air for a brief, crackling moment before resolving into a transmission that sent a chill down her spine.
A deep, commanding voice filled the bridge, cold and unyielding. It resonated with a raw, almost primal authority that demanded attention. “Behold and despair for we are the Zevrin Dominion. You have trespassed upon sacred ground and violated the sanctity of our most sacred space. Your desecration of the monolith is an affront to the divine. Surrender your vessel and prepare to face judgment or suffer annihilation.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Chloe’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach twisting as the full weight of the threat sank in. The voice was more than just a warning; it was a promise of destruction.
Chloe’s fingers hovered over the comm system for a split second before she pressed it, her voice breaking the silence. “Colonel Young,” she said, her tone steady but underscored with urgency. “You need to get to the bridge… now.”
Minutes later, the bridge was a flurry of activity, every corner alive with tension as Young, Scott, Greer, James, Varro, Camille, Rush, Eli, Brody, Volker, and Park crowded into the space. The faint hum of Destiny’s systems seemed louder in the silence between words as Chloe replayed the Zevrin’s ultimatum. The chilling voice reverberated through the room, its cold authority a stark reminder of the stakes.
Scott frowned, his hand resting instinctively on the console beside him, as if bracing for impact. “They’re not messing around,” he said, his voice low but firm. “That’s not a warning… that’s a declaration of war.”
Camille crossed her arms, her expression unreadable but troubled. “They’ve made it clear what they think of us. The question is, do we try to negotiate… or keep running?”
“Running isn’t going to solve anything,” Greer said, his tone steady and resolute. He leaned slightly against the bulkhead, though his posture radiated readiness. “They’re already on us. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up.”
“And negotiating is off the table,” Rush said, his Scottish accent sharp as his words cut through the room. He held up his handheld device, the screen glowing faintly with captured data. “Their doctrine doesn’t allow for compromise. To them, we’re heretics, abominations, even. This isn’t about diplomacy. It’s a crusade.”
“That’s a little grim, don’t you think?” Eli muttered, though his attempt at levity fell flat. His face betrayed his unease, his usual lighthearted demeanor dimmed. “There has to be another option. We can’t just… give up.”
“No one’s giving up,” Young said, his voice cutting through the growing tension like a blade. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp as he addressed the group. “But we need to figure out our next move… fast.”
Rush turned his gaze to Young, his expression intense. “I’ve been analyzing the data we received from the monolith,” he began, gesturing to the handheld device. “It contains a partial set of coordinates. They lead to a location in the next galaxy.”
“That’s a part of the origin signal, isn’t it?” Chloe asked, stepping forward, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and trepidation. “It has to be connected.”
Rush nodded. “It’s part of the puzzle. Whatever’s at those coordinates could be critical to understanding what the Ancients hoped to find out here, and why. If we abandon the mission now, we lose that opportunity.”
Camille raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. “So, you’re saying we should keep chasing a mystery while we’ve got a hostile fleet breathing down our necks?”
“Exactly,” Rush replied without hesitation. His voice was calm but resolute, his gaze sweeping across the room. “The coordinates might lead us to an answer that could change the game entirely. If we stop now, we gain nothing. And frankly, the Zevrin won’t stop whether we run or stand still. The only path forward is the one that makes all of this worth it.”
Brody let out a heavy sigh from his station. “He’s not wrong. They’re not exactly going to send an apology if we leave their space. They’ll keep coming.”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck, his frustration evident. “I hate to say it, but Greer’s right. Running isn’t going to fix this. If anything, it’ll make us look weaker.”
“But standing and fighting them isn’t exactly appealing either,” Volker chimed in, his voice quieter but no less tense.
From the weapons station, Lieutenant Vanessa James spoke up, her voice steady but carrying an edge. “If it comes to a fight, we’re ready. But I’d rather we pick the time and place. Charging headfirst into their trap is how we get people killed.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Young. “Whatever we do, we need to stay unpredictable.”
Near the back of the bridge, Varro crossed his arms, his tone low and pragmatic. “The Zevrin are hunters. I’ve dealt with men like this before… territorial, proud, convinced they’re the only ones with the right to draw breath. If they smell fear, they’ll chase us to the ends of the universe. But if we make them think the hunt isn’t worth it…” He shrugged slightly. “They’ll hesitate. Predators always do when the prey bites back.”
Young’s voice rose again, steady and commanding. “No one’s fighting unless we have to. Our priority is getting to those coordinates and staying ahead of the Zevrin. Brody, Volker… monitor their fleet. Chloe, stay on the long-range sensors. Everyone else, be ready for anything.”
A heavy silence filled the bridge as the crew exchanged glances, the weight of their situation sinking in. Camille finally broke the quiet. “So, it’s settled then. We press on.”
“Damn right,” Greer said, his tone confident as ever. “And if they catch up, we’ll remind them who they’re messing with.”
The faint hum of the engines thrummed steadily as Destiny pressed on, carrying its crew deeper into uncharted territory. Ahead lay the promise of answers, but also the looming shadow of the Zevrin and their relentless pursuit.
Over the next few days, the crew settled into a tense, almost mechanical routine. Drills to prepare for the worst alternated with long stretches of silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of the engines and the occasional echo of footsteps in the corridors. Every system check, every sensor sweep carried the weight of the Zevrin threat, an invisible shadow haunting their every move. Even when the ship seemed calm, no one could shake the feeling that they were being stalked through the void.
To keep morale from fraying, Eli had thrown himself into a side project, movie nights aboard Destiny. He had started it as a joke, a way to distract the crew from the relentless pressure, but it quickly became a ritual. They couldn’t exactly plug in a Blu-ray player or stream from Earth, but with the ship’s advanced systems, and a bit of ingenuity, the impossible became a lifeline.
One evening, Rush, Brody, and Eli gathered in the control chair room, the faint golden glow of the Ancient consoles washing over their faces. The chair hummed quietly as Brody ran a systems check, his fingers dancing across the panel.
“You’re absolutely sure about this?” Brody asked, glancing between Eli and Rush. “We’re about to poke around in your brain just to grab… Star Wars?”
“Not just Star Wars,” Eli corrected, his tone defensive but tinged with pride. “The trilogy. Plus, Ghostbusters, Die Hard, Jurassic Park, The Matrix… basically, the foundational pillars of modern civilization. You know, the essentials.”
Rush gave a soft, unimpressed grunt. “Yes, because clearly the salvation of the human race lies in… Ghostbusters.”
Eli gestured toward him with an exasperated look. “Look, we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere being hunted by religious zealot space-warlords. A little levity won’t kill us. And besides,” he hesitated for a beat, “it’s… home. If we can’t go back, maybe I can bring a piece of it here.”
Brody initiated the sequence, and Eli eased into the control chair, the interface lighting up as the neural connection engaged. A subtle vibration passed through him, the familiar tug of the chair brushing across the edges of his consciousness. Memories began to flicker, not just images, but soundtracks, emotions, the feel of theater seats under him, the smell of popcorn.
Rush monitored the data streams as the chair converted neural patterns into holographic storage. “We’ll have to reconstruct the visuals using the ship’s CGI suite,” he muttered, scanning the progress. “No raw film data to pull from. But between Eli’s memory and the chair’s predictive algorithms, it will… approximate.”
“Approximate?” Eli said, his voice echoing in the chamber as the chair read his neural activity. “It better not turn Luke Skywalker into, like, some kind of lizard.”
Brody smirked faintly. “Relax. Worst case, Greer finally gets to watch Die Hard with all the explosions replaced by Ancient drones.”
By the end of the process, the ship held dozens of reconstructed classics, complete with improvised ambient sound and holographic “theater seating” in the mess hall. That night, as The Empire Strikes Back flickered to life on the bulkhead, its edges a little hazy, but its heart intact, the crew laughed and gasped and groaned in all the right places. For a few precious hours, Destiny felt less like a lifeboat on the edge of oblivion and more like a home.
But no amount of laughter could erase the truth. When the lights dimmed and the film ended, the steel corridors felt colder, and the distant hum of the engines sounded sharper, a constant reminder that the Zevrin were still out there. Every break in tension was only a brief reprieve before the hunt began again.
Destiny remained in FTL, its engines humming steadily as the ship streaked through the unknown galaxy. But the uneasy calm was shattered when the alert blared suddenly across the bridge. Volker’s console beeped sharply, and his hands flew to the controls. His face paled as the readings scrolled across the screen.
“We’ve got incoming,” Volker announced, his voice taut. “Zevrin ships… multiple fleets… just entered FTL on an intercept course. They’re coming at us from two directions: behind and ahead.”
Brody quickly checked his own station, his expression grim. “They’re corralling us,” he said, his tone laced with urgency. “If we stick to our course, we’ll run right into them.”
Young stepped forward, gaze locked on the holographic display where red Zevrin markers closed in like a tightening snare around Destiny’s projected path. “How the hell are they tracking us in FTL?” he asked.
Brody glanced up, shoulders tense. “I don’t know. But they are. And they’re gaining.”
Young stepped forward, his gaze locking onto the holographic display where the Zevrin fleets appeared as glowing red markers, closing in like jaws around Destiny’s blue trajectory line. “Chloe, find us an alternate route,” he ordered, his voice sharp and decisive.
Chloe’s fingers moved rapidly across her console, her brow furrowing. “We don’t have many options,” she said, her tone clipped. “They’re faster than us, and their formation is tightening. If we change course too much, we’ll lose FTL efficiency, and they’ll overtake us even faster.”
Rush joined her at the console, his eyes scanning the data with the sharp intensity of someone already formulating a plan. “If we divert toward the system’s edge, there’s a dense field of subspace distortions nearby,” he said, his voice calm but urgent. “It’s risky, but the turbulence could mask our position and disrupt their trajectory long enough for us to gain some distance.”
Eli leaned in, his voice quick and anxious. “Rush is right, those distortions could scatter their fleet. But if we’re not precise, we could get caught in it too.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Young said, his voice resolute. “Make the adjustments. Brody, Volker, monitor their movements.” He flicked a switch on his control chair, “Everyone, this is Young, prepare for turbulence.”
The bridge erupted into controlled chaos as the crew worked in unison. Rush and Chloe recalculated Destiny’s route with Eli’s assistance, their voices blending as they made rapid adjustments to the navigation system. Volker tracked the Zevrin ships on long-range sensors, his updates coming in quick bursts. Greer moved to secure critical sections of the ship, his calm demeanor unshaken despite the rising tension.
“Course correction ready,” Chloe said after a moment, her voice steady but strained. “We’re cutting right through the distortion field.”
“Let’s do it,” Young ordered.
Destiny shifted course, its engines groaning faintly as the ship adjusted to the new trajectory. On the holographic display, the blue line representing their path veered toward a chaotic cluster of subspace distortions, a swirling mass of anomalies that promised both salvation and potential destruction.
Behind them, the Zevrin ships pressed on, their glowing forms relentless in their pursuit. The ships moved like a pack of predators stalking prey, their formation tightening as they honed in on Destiny’s position.
“They’re accelerating,” Volker warned, his voice rising slightly. “They’re not backing off.”
Young’s jaw clenched. “Stay the course. We just need to make it through the distortion field.”
The ship began to shudder violently as they approached the edge of the anomalies. The subspace turbulence clawed at Destiny, shaking its hull with relentless force and knocking it out of FTL into normal space with a deafening thud. The stars outside returned to pinpricks of light, distorted by the swirling chaos of the distortion fields. Warning lights flickered and strobed across the bridge, casting frantic shadows on the crew’s tense faces. The hum of the engines faltered, uneven and labored, a harsh reminder of how close they were to losing control.
“They’re right on top of us!” Brody shouted, his knuckles white as he gripped the console. The holographic display showed the Zevrin ships closing in, their glowing energy veins cutting through the distortion field like sharks through turbulent water.
“Hold steady!” Young barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We’re not stopping now! I want shields at maximum and all weapons ready just in case we have to fight it out.”
The ship rocked again as another wave of turbulence slammed into it, causing a cascade of sparks to rain down from an overloaded console. The vibrations grew harsher, every jolt rattling through the deck as Destiny plunged deeper into the volatile anomaly. On the display, the Zevrin ships were converging fast, their predatory forms relentless even as the distortions began to interfere with their movements.
“Distortions are scattering their fleet!” Eli shouted, his voice trembling with relief as he pointed at the display. The Zevrin ships faltered, their tight formation breaking apart as the anomalies disrupted their navigation. A few ships veered wildly off course, their trajectories spiraling chaotically.
“It’s working!” Chloe exclaimed, her hands darting over her console as she adjusted the ship’s systems to compensate for the turbulence.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Rush snapped, his eyes glued to the readings on his handheld device. “We’re not out of this field, and neither are they.”
Destiny pressed on, its engines groaning in protest as the ship fought through the chaotic subspace. The distortions clawed at them like a storm battering a seafaring vessel, shaking the crew violently in their seats. The lights dimmed for a moment, then flared back to life as Brody scrambled to stabilize the power flow.
Behind them, the Zevrin fleet floundered, their once-precise movements thrown into disarray. Ships collided with one another, their shields flaring in bursts of light as they struggled to recover. The reprieve was brief, but it was enough.
“We’re clearing the field! FTL is stabilizing!” Chloe called out, her tone laced with urgency. “We’re clear to jump!”
“Do it!” Young commanded, gripping the edge of the console as another jolt shook the bridge.
Destiny’s engines roared back to life, the ship surging forward with a burst of power. The distortions blurred into streaks of light as they leapt into undistorted FTL space, the chaos of the anomaly, and the Zevrin fleet, vanishing behind them.
The bridge fell into a tense silence, the alarms quieting as the hum of the engines settled into their familiar rhythm. The crew exchanged weary glances, their expressions a mix of relief and exhaustion.
Rush exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging as he scanned the data before looking at Young. “We bought ourselves time,” he said, his voice subdued. “But they’ll be back.”
Young’s jaw tightened as he stared at the endless void stretching out before them. “Then we’ll keep moving,” he said, his voice resolute. “This isn’t over.”
Days had passed since the Zevrin’s ultimatum, and every hour since had been a nerve‑wracking exercise in survival. As the ship hurtled through space, the tension on the bridge was almost suffocating. Every movement, every sound carried the weight of their predicament. Destiny had been in and out of FTL, altering course repeatedly, slipping through sensor shadows and cutting across the edges of nebulae and subspace distortions. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse, and the Zevrin had proven themselves relentless hunters.
Sleep came in fragments. Meals were eaten at consoles or standing in corridors. Alarms had become background noise, a constant reminder that they were never out of danger, only ever buying themselves a few more hours before the next chase began. Even in the quiet moments, the ship carried a pulse of anxiety, like every bulkhead knew the pursuit hadn’t ended.
Camille stepped closer to Young, her arms crossed tightly as she lowered her voice. Her face was drawn, shadows under her eyes betraying her own exhaustion. “This can’t go on forever,” she said, her tone laced with concern. “At some point, we have to decide if this mission is worth risking all of our lives.”
Young kept his gaze fixed on the viewport, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond immediately, the silence stretching long enough for Camille to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he turned toward her, his voice calm but laced with an edge of finality. “We’ve been through worse, and we’ve come out the other side. This mission, whatever’s at the end of it… it’s what’s keeping us alive. It’s what’s keeping us moving forward. As long as there’s a chance to succeed, we’re not giving up.”
Camille’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You say that like we have a choice,” she replied, frustration creeping into her tone. “But we’re not just risking our lives for some theoretical discovery, Colonel. We’re risking everyone’s lives, day after day. At what point does survival take precedence over chasing a signal?”
Young’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the holographic display where the Zevrin ships loomed larger. “And what exactly do you think our other options are?” he asked, his tone sharper now. “We can’t get back to Earth yet. We can’t abandon the ship… it’s the only thing keeping us alive out here. And we sure as hell can’t stand and fight the Zevrin. They outgun us, they outmaneuver us, and they’re not interested in talking. So, tell me, Camille, what else can we do but carry on?”
Camille hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. “I’m not saying there’s an easy answer,” she admitted. “But we can’t keep pushing people like this. The crew is exhausted. They’re scared. How long do you think we can keep this up before something breaks?”
Young sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to glance at the others on the bridge. Scott was focused on the tactical display, Greer stood silently near the bulkhead, and Chloe and Eli were bent over their stations, their faces pale and drawn. Everyone was stretched thin, and he knew Camille wasn’t wrong.
“That’s why we need to stay focused,” he said finally, his tone softening. “The moment we start doubting the mission is the moment we lose everything. This ship, this crew, they need a purpose. Without that, we fall apart.”
Rush, who had been silent until now, spoke up from his station. “Camille’s concerns are valid,” he said, his voice even but pointed. “But she’s forgetting one crucial detail. The mission isn’t just about chasing a signal. It’s about finding answers… answers that might be the key to understanding why we’re here, why the Ancients sent this ship in the first place. If we abandon that, then all of this, every sacrifice we’ve made… means nothing.”
Camille turned to him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what if those answers aren’t worth the cost? What if we’re just following breadcrumbs to our own destruction?”
Rush met her gaze, unflinching. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Eli, looking up from his console, hesitated before chiming in. “I get it,” he said quietly. “We’re all scared. But giving up now… it feels like letting the Zevrin win. If they’re willing to chase us halfway across the galaxy, there’s gotta be something important at the end of this, right?”
Camille shook her head, her voice softening. “I just don’t want to see us lose more people. That’s all.”
Young placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady. “None of us do. But every step forward is a step closer to something bigger than ourselves. We owe it to everyone who’s sacrificed along the way to keep going. We owe it to ourselves.”
The tension lingered, but Camille nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. The crew returned to their tasks, each movement deliberate, driven by the knowledge that their lives, and the fate of their mission, hung in the balance.
Chapter 7: Into the Shadows
The tension on the bridge was palpable, pressing down on the crew like a weight they couldn’t shake. The dim glow of the holographic display cast shifting patterns of light across their strained faces, each glance at the screen a fresh reminder of the peril closing in around them. Red markers representing the Zevrin fleets blinked ominously, their positions shifting with a cold, methodical precision. The encroaching ships moved like predators, weaving an unrelenting net that tightened with every passing moment. Destiny’s path was narrowing, and the suffocating realization hung heavy in the air, there was no outrunning this.
Colonel Young stood at the command console, his hands gripping the edges as he stared at the display. “We need a plan,” he said, his voice firm but laced with urgency. “If we keep running, they’ll catch us. It’s only a matter of time.”
Rush stepped forward, his handheld device glowing faintly in the dim light. “They’re not tracking us directly,” he said, his tone thoughtful as he studied the data. “They’re spreading out, casting a net to cover as much space as possible. But their strategy isn’t perfect… it’s brute force. We might be able to exploit that.”
Young glanced at Volker, who was already analyzing the surrounding region. “What do you see?” the Colonel asked.
Volker’s brow furrowed as he zoomed in on a section of the map. “There’s a dark matter nebula nearby,” he said, pointing to a swirling mass on the display. “It’s dense with gravitational anomalies and subspace turbulence. Navigation systems and weapons targeting would be severely disrupted in that region.”
“But not for us,” Rush interjected, his expression brightening slightly. “Destiny’s shields were designed to withstand extreme conditions, including the gravitational forces of stars. The Zevrin ships might not fare as well.”
Young’s jaw tightened as he considered the possibility. “So, we lure them in, use the environment to level the playing field.”
“Exactly,” Volker said, nodding. “If we time it right, we can lead them into the nebula, disrupt their formations, and make our escape while they’re disoriented.”
Brody glanced up from his station, his face lined with worry. “And if they don’t take the bait?”
Young’s gaze hardened. “Then we’ll make sure they don’t have a choice.”
The conference room felt like a pressure chamber, every breath heavy, the air thick with the unspoken weight of what lay ahead. Fear didn’t shout here, it pressed down like gravity, a silent force settling on every shoulder. Colonel Young stood at the head of the table, posture rigid, his eyes sweeping across the familiar faces of his senior staff as if measuring their resolve.
The room itself was new, a strange luxury on a ship that had rarely offered any. Only a week ago, this had been an empty storage bay with walls of cold, ancient metal. Now, thanks to the replication tech Eli and Brody had coaxed into service, it held a polished conference table, functional chairs, and a softly humming holographic display at its center. The clean, flat surfaces and subtle glow of Ancient design contrasted with the harsh, industrial bones of Destiny, giving the space an uncanny sense of borrowed modernity.
Every piece of it, every chair, panel, and interface, had been born from the replication technology. They’d built this room not out of comfort, but necessity. Too many critical conversations had been held in hallways and empty rooms; too many strategies whispered over consoles while someone tried to sleep in the corner. Now, for the first time, Destiny had a place for command decisions… and the weight of that purpose clung to the walls like a shadow.
Around the table sat Rush, Eli, Volker, Brody, Camille, James, Scott, Greer, Varro, Tamara, and Chloe. Each wore a different mask of unease. Determination simmered in some, anxiety in others, and in a few there was the hollow stare of exhaustion, the look of people who had stared into the void too long and knew it was staring back.
Through the walls came the soft, ever-present hum of Destiny’s engines, the pulse of the ship that had become their lifeline and their prison. Even the smallest movements, a chair creaking, the scrape of a boot against the floor, rang loud in the tight silence, cutting through the thrum of machinery like whispers in a tomb.
At the center of the table, the holographic display flickered to life, its pale light throwing fractured shadows across their faces. The shifting patterns of blue and white danced over furrowed brows and tight jaws, illuminating the lines carved by fatigue and hard choices. Every eye was drawn to that light, not because it offered comfort, but because it was a mirror of their reality: a cold, fragile beacon against the dark, holding the difference between survival and annihilation.
Young stood there, the holographic map glowing faintly beside him. “We’ll drop out of FTL near a Zevrin scout ship,” he began, gesturing to the highlighted position on the display. “Brody’s long-range sensors confirm that there are three of their fleets moving in this sector of the galaxy and two in the scout’s vicinity. If we make enough noise, they’ll come running.”
Greer leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Noise, meaning we fire on the scout,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. “I like it.”
Scott shot him a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. “And they’ll think we’re cornered,” he said, his voice steady but tense. “It’s exactly the kind of bait they’ll go for.”
“They’ll assume we’re retreating into the nebula as a last resort,” Chloe added, her tone calm and measured. “And if we play it right, they’ll follow us in.”
Rush leaned forward, tapping the edge of the map where the nebula was marked. “Once inside, the gravitational anomalies and subspace turbulence will severely disrupt their systems,” he explained. His voice carried a note of satisfaction, the kind that came from knowing he was right. “It won’t be easy for us either, but Destiny’s shields and hull integrity give us a distinct advantage.”
Camille frowned, arms crossed tightly. “It’s risky,” she said, her tone cautious. “If the Zevrin adjust too quickly, or if their ships can handle the anomalies better than we expect, we could end up trapped in there with no way out.”
“It’s a calculated risk,” Young replied, his voice firm as he met her gaze. “But it’s better than running blind until they catch up with us.”
Volker, eyes locked on the star map, pointed to a shifting cluster of data. “The nebula is dense with dark matter and gravitational pockets. If we stay in the central zone, the distortions will be strongest there. It’ll buy us the most time, but it’ll also put the biggest strain on our systems.”
Brody sighed and rubbed his temples. “And if something fails while we’re in there? A shield collapse or a propulsion glitch could leave us sitting ducks.”
TJ stepped forward, her voice calm but edged with concern. “And what about the crew? Those gravitational shifts could wreak havoc on our artificial gravity systems. If we hit turbulence or start blacking out parts of the ship, I could be dealing with spine fractures, concussions, or worse.”
Young gave a slow nod, absorbing it all. “Understood. But if we don’t shake them, we may not have a crew left to protect. We go in, we hold together, and we make it out the other side.”
Eli glanced at Brody, his brow furrowed. “It’s not like we have a lot of alternatives. If we don’t try something, we’re toast anyway.”
Chloe nodded in agreement. “The Zevrin aren’t just chasing us… they’re boxing us in. This is the best chance we have to break their formation and get out of range.”
Scott folded his arms, his gaze steady on the Colonel. “What about the crew? They need to be ready for this. If we’re going into a fight, we can’t afford hesitation.”
From her seat along the wall, Lt. James leaned forward, her hands clasped on the table. “Then they need clear orders and they need to see we’re ready to fight. People are scared, Colonel. They’ve been running for days, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If the Zevrin catch us and the first thing the crew sees is panic… we’ll lose this ship before the first shot is fired.” Her voice carried a quiet intensity. “Let me organize the security teams. I’ll make sure every marine and volunteer knows their station, and that every rifle is locked, loaded, and staged near the defensive points. If it comes to boarding, we’ll be ready.”
Young nodded at her, his voice firm. “Good. You’ll coordinate with Greer on weapons prep and security rotation. I want the ship locked down tight.”
“Understood,” James said, already making mental notes.
Young shifted his attention back to the table. “Camille, coordinate with TJ and Park to ensure the medical bay is ready for casualties if it comes to that and get damage control teams organized throughout the ship. I don’t want us caught off-guard if the hull takes a hit.”
Varro nodded, his tone calm but resolute. “I’ll take the lead on that. I know which sections are most vulnerable if we take fire. I’ll set teams at the critical junctions, power conduits, airlocks, and any spot that could cripple the ship if it’s breached. If we take damage, we’ll move fast to patch it up before it spreads. Destiny can survive a fight if we keep her breathing.”
Rush leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “The key to this plan isn’t just luring them in… it’s timing. If we wait too long to move, they could adapt. If we rush, we might miss our chance entirely.”
“That’s why we stick to the plan,” Young said, his voice resolute. “We drop out of FTL near the scout, draw their attention, and lead them into the nebula. Once we’re inside, we use the distortions to scatter their fleet, maybe take a few of them down if we can to send a message, but mostly importantly we make our escape.”
Camille still looked unconvinced. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“It has to,” Young said simply, his tone brooking no argument. “We have to send them a message. We have to let them know that pursuing us will only lead to more losses for them.”
A tense silence settled over the room, the gravity of the decision pressing on each of them like a physical weight. The faint hum of Destiny’s systems filled the space, steady and indifferent.
Dr. Park rose from her seat beside Greer, her voice calm but laced with tension. “If the Zevrin use subspace sensors like we do, the nebula should blind them as much as it blinds us.” She paused, her sunglasses sweeping the room, her expression unreadable behind the dark lenses. “But if their ships are equipped with adaptive targeting or advanced shielding, we’re not luring them into a trap… we’re walking them into a hunting ground where we’re the prey.”
Young met her eyes. “Can we handle the turbulence?”
Park hesitated, then nodded slowly. “With precision. But our margin for error is razor-thin. One miscalculation and we’ll be flying blind through a minefield.”
The room went still again. Finally, Greer leaned back in his seat with a wry grin. “Well,” he drawled, “if we’re going down, at least we’re doing it with style.”
Scott chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Let’s try to keep that from being Plan B, alright?”
Eli glanced around the room, his usual levity tempered by the weight of the situation. Despite that, there was a quiet strength in his voice. “We’ve been through worse,” he said, his gaze moving from face to face. “We can do this. We just have to work together.”
Young straightened, his eyes scanning the room with calm authority. His gaze lingered on each of them, a silent acknowledgment of their individual strengths and the burdens they carried. “Then let’s get to it,” he said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. “You all know your roles. We make our stand in the shadows, and we show the Zevrin we’re not just running scared.”
The crew began to rise, their movements purposeful, their resolve growing stronger with each step. The weight of the mission hung heavily on their shoulders, but so did the shared determination to see it through. As they left the room, there was no need for further words. They all knew what was at stake, and they were ready to face it.
Destiny would make its stand, and its crew would fight with everything they had, forging their path through the darkness toward whatever lay ahead.
The plan was set, and every crewmember moved with purpose, the urgency of their task palpable in the ship’s tense atmosphere. The air was thick with the faint hum of Destiny’s systems and the overlapping voices of the crew as they prepared for what might be their most dangerous maneuver yet.
In the armory, the air smelled faintly of oil and metal, a sharp tang that always accompanied the weight of combat readiness. Greer stood at the bench, methodically checking and re-checking his rifle, each motion precise, his face carved in focus. Every click of a magazine locking into place felt like a small promise; he would be ready when the moment came. Across from him, Scott bent over the tactical console, the holographic schematic of Destiny floating in pale light. His finger traced through corridors and choke points, his voice low but firm as he walked James through security rotations and fallback positions.
Lieutenant James, steady but sharp-eyed, moved between racks of weapons and the growing cluster of personnel. Her voice carried over the metallic clatter. “Squads of four, stagger the rotations. I want two teams on the bridge approach, two covering engineering. No hesitation… if we take a hit, you hold your posts until relieved.” Her authority was crisp, and the soldiers moved with the kind of nervous energy that came from knowing their training might finally be tested.
Elsewhere, Varro’s Lucian Alliance pragmatism showed in the way he directed the repair teams. He stalked the corridors with a tablet in hand, pausing to point at conduits and pressure seals. “You, take a kit to junction C-12. If a panel blows, that’s our main power line to life support. You, deck three, port side. Any breach there and half the ship vents. Move fast, think faster. Keep the patches ready.” The crew he organized was a mix of military and civilian, all moving in a tense dance of purpose under his sharp eye.
In the infirmary, the tone was quieter but no less urgent. TJ stood at the center, her arms crossed as she surveyed the space with clinical calculation. “Park, triage station there, closest to the door. Camille, prep the blood kits and get the crash cart ready. If we get wounded in clusters, we need a clear path from the lift to the beds. No clutter.”
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the soft hum of equipment was broken only by the clink of instruments being laid out in precise order. A tension hung in the air, anticipation coiled around every movement.
Park moved carefully toward the triage station, one hand brushing the edge of the counter to orient herself, the other holding a tray of gauze. Her movements were deliberate, practiced, almost graceful in their precision. “You know,” she said with a quiet, wry smile, “I never thought I’d get this good at counting steps and memorizing corners. I used to think I couldn’t do my job anymore… after the accident. But I guess necessity does funny things to a person.”
TJ looked up from the cabinet she was stocking, her expression softening. “You’ve adapted faster than I think anyone expected. You’re efficient. You know exactly where everything is now. Honestly… you move through this infirmary like you never left it.”
Park let out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. “I still have my moments. I’ve just learned to… trust my hands, my ears, and the rhythm of the room. I can’t rely on my eyes anymore, but I can feel the work.” She tapped the counter lightly with her knuckles. “And… the crew’s patience has helped. Even Greer lets me hold onto his shoulder without grumbling too much.”
Camille knelt by the small refrigeration unit, her hands moving with careful precision as she organized the blood kits by type. The sterile chill of the compartment brushed her face, a faint contrast to the warm hum of Destiny’s life support. She glanced over her shoulder at Park, who was running her hands lightly over the edge of the triage table, committing its layout to memory. A faint smile touched Camille’s lips.
“You’re stronger than you think, Lisa,” she said gently. “Most people in your situation would’ve given up. But here you are, helping us get ready to save lives. You’ve adapted better than any of us could’ve hoped.”
TJ, standing at the counter with a tray of instruments, offered a small, approving nod. “Camille’s right. I’ve watched you work. You’re steadier now… confident. You know exactly what to grab first, where to stand. That’s more than half the battle in a med bay when the pressure hits.”
Park’s hand drifted along the line of instruments, each one sliding neatly into place. “I thought losing my sight meant losing this part of me. Turns out, I just had to learn a new way to do it. Different… but it works.”
TJ’s own expression softened as she returned to her task. “I know the feeling. Since we woke up from cryo, I’ve had to study more than I ever thought I could. Nights cramming medical texts, running simulations in my head… and every time I get to Earth with the stones, I spend half the visit in a medical library or a lecture hall. Then I come back here and cross-reference it all with the Ancient database and what we recovered from Novus.”
She paused to check the alignment of a tray, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s like stitching together three different worlds of medicine, trying to figure out which part will save someone’s life when it counts. I still feel like I’m catching up, but every drill, every emergency… it sticks now. It has to.” She gave a soft, self-effacing laugh. “There’s no room for hesitation out here.”
Park hesitated at the triage station, her fingers brushing lightly along the edge of the counter. “TJ… I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s the… the research going? For ALS.” Her voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern, her unseeing eyes angled toward TJ.
Camille looked up from where she was labeling blood kits, her expression softening. “I was wondering that too. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard… have you made any progress?”
TJ’s movements slowed for a moment, her shoulders dipping in a quiet exhale. “Not as much as I’d hoped,” she admitted. “The Ancient database has fragments, Novus has some promising threads, and Earth’s researchers are trying to help when I’m there… but there’s no miracle yet. I haven’t given up, though. I can’t. I owe it to myself.”
A brief silence settled over the room, broken only by the low hum of Destiny’s life support. Park’s voice was gentle when she finally spoke. “Well… if anyone can find a way, it’s you.”
TJ offered a small, tired smile. “I hope so.” Her gaze drifted briefly to the floor, letting the quiet linger before she straightened a tray of instruments. The weight of her own admission hung in the air, a reminder of the battles they each carried quietly.
Camille’s hands paused over the blood kits, her expression softening as if the moment had stirred her own thoughts. She slid the final tray into place and closed the refrigeration unit with a soft click. “It’s the same for all of us,” she said quietly. “We do what we can to get by. I got to speak to Sharon during the last visit…” She hesitated, her voice catching slightly. “It was harder than I expected. I wanted to tell her everything, to feel her hand in mine. But I can’t. I could see it in her eyes… she wanted to reach through that screen and bring me home.”
TJ looked over, her expression full of quiet sympathy. “But she’s still with you, right?”
“She is,” Camille said, and a small, bittersweet smile curved her lips. “We hold each other together in our own way. Even if it’s just words across light-years… it’s something. She said she’s proud of me. But it still feels like I’m living a life she can’t touch.”
Park’s movements slowed as she laid out a roll of gauze, her voice soft but certain. “I can’t imagine having someone waiting like that. But… I think it makes you stronger. We all see it. You keep this place grounded, Camille. Even when the rest of us feel like we’re just… floating in the dark.”
Camille chuckled quietly, the sound tinged with emotion. “I don’t always feel that way. But… thank you. That means more than you know.”
TJ let her gaze sweep over the infirmary, her chest rising and falling with a steadying breath. Everything was in order, supplies lined up, paths cleared, the small room transformed into a place ready to meet disaster head-on. “Alright,” she said at last, her voice calm but resolute. “Whatever happens next… we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
For a heartbeat, the three women shared a silent understanding, bound by the fragile, stubborn strength that kept them moving forward. Beyond the infirmary walls, Destiny thrummed like a living thing, her metal frame braced for the storm they all knew was coming.
On the bridge, the air thrummed with activity, alive with the pulse of Destiny’s overtaxed systems. Lights from the consoles bathed the crew in a flickering glow, a dance of blue and amber across tense faces. The background hum of the engines was joined by the soft whine of the shields as energy fluctuated through the hull. Every beep and tone felt sharper, louder, like the ship itself was holding its breath.
Chloe and Rush leaned over their consoles, moving in near-perfect tandem, the quiet urgency of survival dictating every motion. Data cascaded down the displays faster than the eye could track, streams of numbers and shifting graphs reflecting off their faces in cold light. Shield harmonics rippled across Chloe’s monitor in jagged, restless waves, each spike a warning. She bit her lip, recalibrating frequencies with rapid keystrokes, her voice steady but taut.
“Shields are holding,” she said, eyes locked on the oscillating patterns, “but they’re fluctuating every time the distortion field shifts. One direct hit like this…”
“They won’t hold,” Rush cut in, his Scottish accent sharp with tension. He killed the current simulation and immediately began inputting a new one, his fingers a blur across the console. Numbers scrolled, models spun, and he muttered calculations under his breath, half to himself, half to the ship. His gaze flicked between Chloe’s display and the translucent holo of the Zevrin fleet hovering above the table, their pursuit paths curling like claws around Destiny’s projection.
“If we divert power from the rear emitters,” he said, his tone tight but measured, “we might buy a few extra seconds of coverage on the bow. Just enough to ride the next wave of turbulence…” his eyes narrowed as he confirmed the math “…instead of letting it tear through us.”
The bridge seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft hum of the consoles and the distant vibration of Destiny’s engines the only sounds beneath their clipped, urgent voices.
Across the bridge, Eli crouched over an open panel near the auxiliary power relay, his tool kit scattered around him. “Brody, how’s the junction on your end?” he called, his voice muffled as he ducked under a tangle of cables. “If I get this bypass set up, the new reactors should give us a 15% buffer before the main conduits fry.”
Brody’s voice crackled over comms from a deck below. “Not great! One of these power couplings is older than the Stargate on Earth. If this overloads, I’m gonna be the first human being to become a lightbulb.”
“Comforting,” Eli muttered, wincing as a spark jumped from a cable to his wrist. He shook it out and went back to work. “Okay, new plan: don’t explode. I like you better in your current state.”
A cascade of simulated alerts lit up Chloe’s monitor, the holographic waveform of the shields spiking into angry red peaks. Rush leaned closer, his voice sharp but controlled. “Predicted fluctuation on shield harmonics… forty-five degrees starboard. Adjust now.”
Chloe’s fingers flew across the console, inputting the corrective sequence as the simulation rendered Destiny shuddering under theoretical stress. The virtual shield bubble flickered in the projection, its oscillations wobbling before settling into a strained equilibrium.
Rush’s eyes darted over the numbers, muttering to himself. “Better… but still not stable enough for a sustained run through the distortion field.” He reset the model with a few clipped commands, and new variables scrolled across the display like a cascade of falling stars. “Again. We have to know exactly how many hits we can take before the system buckles.”
Chloe exhaled through her nose, her shoulders taut with focus. “Then we keep running it until we get it right,” she said, her voice low but firm, eyes never leaving the pulsing readouts.
The comm crackled to life with Volker’s voice from engineering, tinged with the tension of bad news. “Bridge, weapons are online, but only just. We’ve got the new systems primed, but they’re still running on partial power. If the Zevrin catch us in normal space…” He hesitated, then finished grimly, “We can sting them, maybe, but we won’t survive a slugfest. Right now, we’ve got two usable shots from the Asgard beams and barely half a dozen drones ready to launch.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy as the hum of the consoles. Rush’s fingers never stopped moving, but his eyes flicked toward the ceiling as if he could glare straight through the comm to engineering. “Then let’s not give them a fair fight,” he muttered. “If they get that chance, we’re already dead.”
Eli popped his head up from behind the panel, a streak of sweat cutting through the smudge on his forehead. “Backup reactors are online,” he said, forcing a shaky grin. “Congratulations, we are now officially held together by Ancient tech, spare parts, and blind optimism. Which, for the record, is probably how this ship has been running since day one.”
Brody glanced at his tablet, relief flickering across his features. “Power levels are stabilizing… finally. I’m seeing a marked improvement across the board. We should get down to engineering, help Volker route more juice to the weapons. If the Zevrin catch us, we’ll need every watt we can squeeze out of this relic.”
“Yeah,” Eli said with a nod, snapping his kit closed. “I’d rather be next to the guy with the beam emitters than stuck behind the guy doing math.”
Around them, the bridge hummed like a living engine of controlled chaos. Rush muttered calculations under his breath, eyes darting between a storm of data streams. Chloe’s hands moved in a blur over her console, chasing every fluctuation in the shields. Eli and Brody hefted their tools and slipped toward the lower levels, bound for the ship’s ancient heart, while the low, relentless rumble of Destiny’s engines thrummed beneath it all, straining to keep them one step ahead of the hunters closing in.
The ship itself seemed to vibrate with anticipation, its deep, steady hum carrying through the bulkheads like a pulse. Every corridor echoed with footsteps and clipped voices, the distant clatter of tools, the soft hiss of hydraulics as panels were opened and sealed again. Destiny felt alive; bristling, wary, and ready to weather whatever storm the Zevrin were bringing.
Young moved through the corridors with a steady, deliberate pace, his boots ringing softly against the deck plates. The ship felt alive around him. He passed Greer and James near the armory, both performing final weapons checks; Greer loading magazines with his usual calm intensity, James directing a small security team as they hauled barricades and ammo cans into position. A junction ahead buzzed with activity as Varro coordinated his repair crews, dispatching them to reinforce bulkheads and monitor critical conduits. Sparks flared briefly from a panel being sealed, and the faint tang of ozone mingled with the recycled air.
Everywhere Young looked, the crew moved with purpose. Most of them weren’t soldiers by training, yet they carried themselves like veterans now, bonded by months of surviving together in the cold edge of the universe. Over a year ago, these same people would have been panicked or bickering in the corridors. Now, they worked in quiet synchrony, nods exchanged, tools passed hand-to-hand, each of them knowing their role without having to be told.
As he approached the bridge, Young felt a flicker of pride beneath the ever-present weight of command. They had come so far from those first chaotic days on Destiny, when fear and uncertainty ruled every step. Now, they were a crew, scarred, exhausted, but unified. He could trust them to do their part when the Zevrin came for them again.
The moment arrived sooner than anyone was ready for, but Destiny’s crew had rehearsed this dance to perfection. The shift out of FTL hit like a controlled jolt, the familiar stomach‑lurching shudder rattling through the decks as the stars snapped back into sharp pinpoints. On the bridge, the holographic display bloomed to life in a wash of pale blue light, and there it was… the Zevrin scout ship.
Its silhouette knifed through the darkness, all brutal elegance and predatory intent. Jagged, angular hull plates caught the distant starlight, while luminous blue veins pulsed across its frame like living circuitry. Each surge of energy crawled along the ship’s spine in a heartbeat rhythm, the glow spilling into the void as if the vessel itself were alive and hunting. Weapons arrays studded the hull, glinting with latent threat, and for a moment, it seemed to stare back at them across the black gulf of space, silent, waiting.
“They’ve seen us,” Brody said, his voice tight, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as his hands moved across the console. “Weapons are powering up… their targeting us and moving to close the distance.”
Young’s jaw clenched as he turned toward Scott. “Scott, fire a warning shot. Let’s make sure we got their attention.”
The bridge seemed to hold its breath as the main cannon hummed, its charge building to a piercing crescendo. A searing bolt of energy erupted from Destiny, streaking across the void in a brilliant arc. The blast struck the scout ship’s shields with a resounding crack, causing the protective barrier to flare with blinding intensity before dissipating.
The Zevrin ship reacted instantly, its sleek form twisting sharply in the blackness of space as it angled directly toward Destiny. The pulsing blue veins across its hull intensified, their light radiating an ominous glow as the scout’s weapons charged in response.
“They’ve taken the bait,” Chloe said, her voice calm but with a razor-sharp edge as her fingers moved across her station. “Picking up multiple signatures now… additional ships converging on our location.”
Volker’s console beeped sharply, and his face turned grim. “It’s not just a few. Several of their fleets are adjusting their courses… fast. They’re moving to intercept.”
“Time to run,” Young barked, his tone steely. “Head for the nebula. Full power to the engines.”
Destiny’s engines thundered, their powerful roar resonating through the ship as it surged forward, the deck trembling beneath the crew’s feet. The swirling shadows of the nebula loomed ahead, a vast expanse of roiling darkness interspersed with faint, ghostly lights that pulsed like distant, dying stars. On the holographic display, the Zevrin fleet markers moved with unnerving precision, closing the net around their prey with relentless intent.
The scout ship trailed dangerously close, its glowing blue energy veins flaring like claws reaching out through the void. Behind it, the Zevrin fleets loomed larger on the sensors, their predatory formations tightening as they converged. The dark mass of the nebula grew nearer, its ominous presence swallowing the edges of the viewport.
As Destiny approached the nebula’s threshold, the swirling clouds became more distinct, their movements chaotic and hypnotic. Tendrils of vapor-like shadow twisted and writhed, illuminated by faint, otherworldly glimmers that danced like spirits in the darkness. The ship’s sensors began to flicker erratically, the gravitational anomalies interfering with the systems.
Alarms blared across the bridge, the sharp tones cutting through the tense silence. “Anomalies are pulling at the ship,” Brody reported, his voice tight with urgency.
“Hold steady,” Young commanded, his gaze locked on the growing chaos outside.
Destiny pressed onward, its shields glowing faintly as the gravitational forces clawed at the hull, sending faint ripples of light cascading across the bridge. The ship groaned under the strain, a low, haunting sound that reverberated through the tense silence. The swirling tendrils of the nebula seemed alive, twisting and writhing as if they sought to ensnare the vessel in their chaotic embrace. The faint, spectral lights within the nebula flickered ominously, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the crew’s taut faces.
“Entering the nebula,” Volker reported, his voice calm despite the tension crackling in the air. His hands moved deftly over the console, every motion deliberate. “Anomalies are as strong as we expected. We’ll need constant adjustments to keep stable.”
On the holographic display, the pursuing Zevrin ships hovered at the boundary of the nebula, their formation wavering as they hesitated. The glowing blue veins of energy across their hulls pulsed erratically, reacting to the unstable gravitational forces. For a fleeting moment, it seemed the enemy might retreat, unwilling to risk the hazards of the nebula.
But the pause was brief. The Zevrin scout ship surged forward, its engines flaring with defiance as it plunged into the swirling shadows. The first wave of the fleet followed, their sleek, angular forms slicing into the nebula like predators closing in for the kill.
“They’re coming in!” Eli shouted, his voice breaking the spell of silence. “We’ve got a shot at this!”
“Stay focused,” Young ordered, his tone cutting through the chaos like a blade. His eyes remained locked on the display, every muscle in his body taut with determination. “This is just the beginning.”
Destiny pushed deeper into the roiling darkness, the nebula swallowing the ship whole. Around them, the gravitational anomalies twisted reality, distorting the glowing forms of the pursuing fleet. The Zevrin ships flickered and blurred on the sensors, their precise formations fracturing as the chaotic environment took hold.
The ship’s lights dimmed momentarily as the strain on the shields intensified, but Destiny pressed on, its engines roaring defiantly against the encroaching chaos. The crew braced themselves, every jolt and shudder reminding them that the battle was far from over. They had entered the maw of uncertainty, and the true fight was only beginning.
Then the alarms erupted. A harsh, piercing klaxon filled the bridge, the sound cutting through the rumble of the engines like a blade. Red warning lights strobed across the consoles, painting the crew in flashes of crimson.
“Weapon lock!” Volker shouted over the rising noise, his hands flying over his console. “The scout ship has a weapons lock…they’re firing!”
Through the forward viewport, faint streaks of blue-white energy lit the darkness, growing brighter with terrifying speed. The first salvo of the hunt had begun, and Destiny was racing headlong into the storm.
Chapter 8: Fighting the Tide
Destiny plunged deeper into the swirling chaos of the nebula, the ship’s shields glowing faintly as they absorbed the assault of gravitational anomalies and the Zevrin scout. The hull groaned under the strain, a low, ominous sound that reverberated through the ship like a warning. On the bridge, lights flickered and warning indicators flared red, casting jagged, pulsing shadows across the tense faces of the crew. The overlapping sounds of blaring alarms, urgent voices, and the ship’s straining systems created a cacophony that matched the turmoil outside.
Beyond the viewport, the nebula was a churning storm of shadows and light, its dense clouds writhing like living things. Streaks of eerie luminescence danced across the dark expanse, illuminating flashes of jagged distortions that twisted reality itself. Tendrils of nebulous vapor coiled and lashed out as if seeking to ensnare the ship, each movement radiating a sense of ominous intent. It was not just a battlefield, it was a living, breathing entity, chaotic and merciless, daring Destiny to survive its depths.
“They’re closing in!” Volker called out, his voice tight with urgency as his eyes darted over the holographic display. The Zevrin ships glowed ominously, their angular forms flickering in and out of focus as the gravitational anomalies distorted their movements. Yet, despite the chaos, they pressed forward, relentless.
“They’re not pulling back,” Chloe added, her fingers a blur across her console. “They’re compensating for the turbulence. They’re adapting.”
Rush, hunched over his station, glanced up sharply, his face twisted in both frustration and reluctant admiration. “They’re compensating faster than expected,” he muttered. “Crude tech, but their adaptability is… infuriatingly effective.”
Young’s jaw tightened as he studied the display, the Zevrin ships tightening their formation, their calculated movements an unspoken challenge. The scout ship darted ahead of the others, its pulsing blue veins flaring brighter as its weapons spun up for another strike.
“Scott,” Young ordered, his tone firm and clipped. “Lock onto that scout ship. I want it gone, now.”
“On it,” Scott replied, his fingers flying across the controls. The targeting reticle snapped onto the scout’s jagged silhouette on the holo-display. “Target acquired. Main cannon charging. Firing.” The deck vibrated with a low, resonant hum as Destiny’s primary cannon discharged. A searing bolt of energy lanced across the void, striking the scout ship’s shields. The impact flared brilliant blue, a spherical ripple racing across its hull before fading.
“Direct hit,” Chloe reported, eyes fixed on her console. “Shields are holding, but they’re destabilizing, twenty percent bleed-through to their hull.”
The scout ship retaliated instantly, a streak of luminous energy slamming into Destiny’s shields. The ship shuddered under the impact, a hollow groan echoing through the deck plates as the lights flickered.
“Shields holding for now,” Chloe called. “If their friends join in… we’re going to feel it.”
“Scott, fire again,” Young ordered.
The cannon roared, sending another brilliant discharge across space. This time the blast tore through the weakened shield bubble, cracking across the hull and sending chunks of debris spiraling into the nebula’s dark tendrils.
“They’re hurting,” Eli said, half in awe, half in tension. “One more should do it!”
“Do it,” Young commanded.
Scott’s hands were steady as he primed the cannon for the final strike. “Firing.”
The last shot streaked through the darkness, striking the Zevrin scout square midship. Its remaining shields flickered and died, the hull splitting with a flash of light and a burst of debris that scattered into the nebula like dying embers.
“Target eliminated,” Brody confirmed, her voice steady but underscored with relief.
On the display, the other Zevrin ships hesitated for the briefest moment, their predatory net adjusting to the sudden loss. The crew didn’t need Young to tell them: the hunt wasn’t over.
Volker’s voice cut through the tense silence, tight with urgency. “No sign of retreat. Their formations are already shifting, they’re continuing the pursuit, and the lead elements are accelerating. That scout’s loss barely slowed them down.”
Young jabbed a finger toward the glowing markers. “Then, we’ll make them regret it. Eli, can we lure the lead ships into one of those anomalies?”
Eli squinted at his screen, sweat beading on his forehead as he rapidly analyzed the chaotic readings. “There’s a high-density pocket just ahead,” he said, his voice tense but focused. “If we time it right, we can pull them in.”
“make it happen,” Young snapped. He turned to Scott and Greer. “Scott, Greer, be ready to hit their weapons systems the second they’re caught.”
The bridge was alive with urgency as the crew worked in unison, their fear masked by determination. The nebula outside was a swirling tempest, its tendrils of shadow and light churning violently as Destiny pushed deeper into its grasp.
“They’re closing the gap!” Volker shouted, his voice rising with alarm. “They’re powering up weapons!”
“Confirmed,” Brody added, his tone sharper now. “They’re locking onto us.”
The first shots came suddenly, streaks of blue energy slicing through the nebula. The blasts illuminated the swirling chaos in brief, blinding flashes as they careened toward Destiny. The ship rocked violently as its shields absorbed the impact, the bridge bathed in the flickering red glow of warnings.
“They’re firing again,” Scott repeated, his voice a calm anchor in the storm as his hand hovered over the weapons console. The sharp blue streaks of Zevrin energy blasts illuminated the nebula, the flashes briefly casting twisted shadows across the bridge.
“Hold steady,” Young barked, his voice firm as his eyes locked on the display. The markers for the Zevrin ships were closing in fast, their relentless pursuit narrowing the margin for error. “Eli, give me something. We need to time this perfectly.”
Eli’s fingers flew over his console, his focus unyielding despite the sweat rolling down his temples. “We’re almost there. Just a few more seconds and we will skirt the edge of the field. Brody, on my mark move hard to port.”
“Copy that.” Brody said solemnly but ready.
Destiny surged forward, its shields flaring as another volley of Zevrin fire slammed into them. The vibrations rippled through the ship, rattling consoles and unsettling the crew, but Destiny held its course, the ship weaving through the swirling chaos of the nebula.
“They’re adjusting their trajectory,” Chloe said, her voice rising slightly. “They’re trying to match our moves.”
“Let them,” Rush muttered, his eyes fixed on the data streaming across his station. “They’ll regret it soon enough.”
Eli’s voice cut through the din. “We’re approaching the anomaly! Five seconds until we hit the edge.”
“Scott, Greer… get ready,” Young said, his gaze unyielding.
On the display, the lead Zevrin ship’s marker surged closer, its glowing hull cutting through the nebula like a blade. Blue energy flared along its weapons as it lined up another shot, the glowing streaks barely missing Destiny’s stern as the ship twisted sharply to the side.
“Now!” Eli shouted.
Brody’s hands danced over the controls, Destiny banking hard around the edge of the anomaly. The gravitational forces strained against the ship, the shields flaring brighter under the pressure. The crew gritted their teeth as the deck shuddered violently, but Destiny held its course, skirting the edge of the deadly gravitational pocket.
“They’re following us in!” Chloe yelled, her eyes darting between the display and her console.
The lead Zevrin ship pursued with precision, its movements aggressive and unrelenting. As it veered closer to the anomaly, its path began to falter, the gravitational forces tugging at its hull. The ship’s glowing veins of energy pulsed erratically, its systems struggling to compensate.
“They’re caught!” Volker shouted, excitement breaking through his tension. “The anomaly’s pulling them in!”
“Scott, now!” Young ordered.
Destiny’s Asgard energy beams hummed to life, the sound rising to a sharp crescendo before unleashing a beam of energy. The searing shot struck the trapped Zevrin ship dead-on, its shields flaring brightly before collapsing under the combined force of the blast and the anomaly’s pull.
The Zevrin ship twisted violently, its angular hull buckling as it was dragged into the swirling mass of the anomaly. The gravitational forces tore it apart piece by piece, glowing debris scattering into the nebula before vanishing entirely.
“One down,” Greer said, his tone dark but satisfied.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Young warned, his eyes on the display. The other Zevrin ships hesitated briefly, their formation faltering as the loss of their lead ship rippled through their ranks. “We’re not out of this.”
“Another anomaly ahead,” Eli called out. “We can use it, but we’ll need to move fast.”
“Then let’s move,” Young ordered. “Keep them on our tail. This isn’t over.”
Destiny surged forward, its engines roaring as it wove through the chaotic storm of the nebula. The gravitational anomalies pressed against the ship, warping the space around it into a swirling, distorted battlefield. The crew moved with relentless focus, each action driven by the knowledge that a single mistake could mean the end.
The bridge rocked violently as several barrages of Zevrin fire hammered the shields from multiple points. Sparks erupted from an overhead console, showering the floor with bright, crackling embers. Alarms blared in deafening unison, a symphony of warning tones that only heightened the tension.
“Shield emitter four is down!” Varro’s voice crackled over the intercom, strained and urgent. “Critical failure… shields are weakening on the rear sections! Repair crews working on it now!”
Young turned sharply toward Rush, his jaw tight. “How long until they fail completely?”
Rush’s expression was grim, his eyes darting across his console. “At this rate? Minutes.”
Young slammed a hand against the railing, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Brody, where are we on repairs?”
Brody, hunched over his station, glanced up, his face pale but resolute. “Camille sent Morrison and Marsden. They’re working on it, but the emitter’s in a damaged section of the ship and its exposed to space so they are suiting up now.”
A sharp tremor rippled through the ship as another shot slammed into the shields, the lights flickering ominously. The hum of Destiny’s systems wavered, a chilling reminder of how precarious their situation was.
“They’re running out of time!” Volker called out, his voice rising with urgency as he monitored the shield integrity. “If the emitter doesn’t come back online…”
“They’ll fix it,” Young said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. His eyes remained locked on the display, where the Zevrin ships loomed closer, their glowing energy veins pulsing with lethal intent. “And we’ll keep them alive long enough to do it.”
Scott glanced back from his station, his grip tightening on the weapons console. “Then we need to make sure those ships don’t get a clear shot. Greer, you ready?”
Greer’s voice came from the comms, steady and focused. “Always.”
Outside, the Zevrin ships closed in, their angular forms cutting through the nebula with ruthless precision. Blue energy streaked from their weapons, lighting up the chaotic darkness like jagged bolts of lightning as Destiny continued to dance through the storm.
“Scott, Greer… keep firing! Make them look at us, not where we’re going,” Young barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony of alarms. “Eli, track the anomalies. We’ll need another opening if this one doesn’t shake them.”
The bridge thrummed with the violence of the pursuit. Destiny groaned under the weight of the assault, each shudder of the hull sending a metallic tremor through the deck. A sharp jolt threw a shower of sparks from an overhead panel, the smell of scorched wiring mixing with the recycled air.
Outside the viewport, the nebula churned like a living storm. Swirling clouds of darkness and pale light twisted on themselves, and through the chaos, lances of Zevrin energy-fire cut jagged paths of brilliant blue. Each blast flared against Destiny’s straining shields, their glow rippling across the hull like heat lightning.
The crew worked in grim synchrony, every movement sharpened by urgency. Fingers flew over controls, voices clipped and focused. Destiny plunged deeper into the maelstrom, her survival balanced on the knife-edge of precision and luck. The battle was far from over, and every second carried the weight of life or death.
Destiny’s main cannon thundered, joined by the sharp cadence of its defensive batteries, each burst a streak of searing light tearing through the turbulent void. The nebula itself turned the battlefield into a nightmare, gravity wells twisting trajectories, tendrils of dark matter tugging at both ships and weapons fire. Where the Zevrin faltered in the storm, Destiny thrived; its crew reading the chaos like a language born of survival.
Two enemy vessels strayed too close to the invisible snare of a gravitational anomaly. Their shields flared in panicked bursts, shimmering under crushing tidal forces as warped space dragged at their hulls. Rush’s voice, tight with focus, called the shot, and Destiny’s main cannon obeyed, unleashing a beam of blinding energy that ripped through the chaos.
The first Zevrin ship folded in on itself, metal groaning in a silent implosion before a blossom of fire consumed it. The second, caught in the anomaly’s wake, spun helplessly as its shields collapsed. Destiny’s follow-up volley sliced through its midsection, and the ship broke apart in a cascade of molten fragments and venting plasma.
Debris scattered like embers across the nebula, glowing gold and violet in the reflected light of the surrounding gases. For a heartbeat, the wreckage seemed suspended in a macabre stillness, the swirling tendrils of the nebula painting it in haunting beauty. Then the storm claimed it all, dragging the remains into the roiling darkness, leaving nothing but shadows and the pulse of Destiny’s defiance.
“Direct hit!” Scott shouted, his voice triumphant. “Two more down!”
On the bridge, the crew barely had time to savor the fleeting victory. The Zevrin’s relentless pursuit showed no sign of slowing, their remaining ships weaving through the nebula’s chaotic currents with predatory determination. Destiny shuddered under the strain, her frame groaning like a living thing pushed to its limits.
“Good,” Young said, his tone resolute and clipped. “Keep them off our backs.”
A sharp alert blared from Volker’s station, and he leaned forward, his eyes scanning the shield readouts. “Colonel, shields are straining, down to eighty-four percent and dropping. The anomalies are chewing through our coverage almost as much as the weapons fire.”
The bridge lights flickered as another distant blast rattled the hull. Sparks cascaded from a minor panel overload near the aft console, the scent of ozone sharp in the air. Chloe’s fingers flew over her console, recalibrating harmonics in real time.
“We can hold a little longer,” she said, voice tight with focus, “but we’re on borrowed time if this keeps up.”
Young’s gaze swept the bridge, his jaw set in determination. “Then we make every second count. Scott, Greer… keep the pressure on. Rush, Chloe… buy me time before those shields buckle.” He tapped his comm, his voice cutting through the din. “Varro, where’s that repair team? I need that emitter repaired five minutes ago!”
The only reply was the echo of battle through the hull, the low growl of Destiny straining to survive as the Zevrin closed in.
In the forward section of Destiny, where life support was offline due to battle damage, Morrison and Marsden worked frantically, encased in bulky pressure suits that made every movement an exercise in effort and precision. The faint hiss of their breathing filled their helmets, punctuated by the distant roar of explosions reverberating through the ship. Sparks rained intermittently from damaged panels, casting brief flashes of harsh light on their grim determination.
Marsden crouched by the emitter housing, his gloved hands fumbling slightly as he struggled to secure a new circuit board in place. The thickness of the suit’s gloves made the delicate work maddeningly slow, and the constant tremors rattling the deck beneath him only added to the challenge. Nearby, Morrison knelt over a tangled mess of power cables, methodically rerouting energy around the damaged sections.
“How much longer?” Marsden shouted, his voice muffled and distorted by his helmet’s comms system.
“Five minutes if nothing else breaks,” Morrison replied sharply, not looking up from his work. Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the cool, filtered air circulating through his suit. “Just keep going!”
Marsden gritted his teeth as another tremor shook the ship, jostling him enough to knock his tools to the floor. He cursed under his breath, reaching for them as his movements grew increasingly frantic. “This thing’s barely holding together.”
“It’ll hold long enough,” Morrison snapped, though his own voice betrayed a crack of doubt. “Just focus!”
The ship rocked violently as an enemy blast struck nearby, the force throwing them momentarily off balance. Morrison caught himself against the bulkhead, while Marsden braced himself against the emitter, his shoulder absorbing the impact as he fought to keep it steady.
“I’ve rerouted power!” Morrison called out after a tense few minutes, his voice strained but steady through the comms. “You ready for the connection?”
Marsden worked feverishly, his gloved hands trembling from the effort as he tightened the last connection on the circuit board. “Almost… there! It’s in!”
Before Morrison could respond, another explosion reverberated through the ship, this one closer. A piece of debris, sharp and jagged, tore through the damaged bulkhead. The spinning shard sliced through the air with terrifying speed, piercing Corp. Marsden’s suit just below the shoulder.
Marsden gasped, the sound sharp and panicked in Morrison’s comms. He staggered back, clutching at the breach as air hissed from the puncture. “I’m hit…!” he choked out, his voice faltering as blood began to seep into the torn fabric of his suit.
Morrison’s eyes widened behind his visor. “Marsden, stay with me!” he shouted, scrambling toward him.
Marsden tried to wave him off, his movements sluggish as his strength waned. “Just… finish it,” he rasped, collapsing to his knees. “Get the shields up…”
Gritting his teeth, Morrison hesitated for only a second before turning back to the emitter. His hands moved with frantic precision as he connected the final relay, sparks erupting around him. The emitter hummed weakly to life, its glow flickering before stabilizing. The shields were online.
Morrison turned back to Marsden, his breath catching in his throat as the grim reality struck him. Marsden lay motionless, his pressure suit darkened with blood that seeped from the jagged breach in his shoulder. The faint hiss of escaping air faded into a haunting silence, broken only by the distant echoes of battle reverberating through the ship. The glowing shield emitter pulsed steadily behind him, its cold, mechanical rhythm an indifferent witness to the loss.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Morrison forced himself to move, his hands trembling as he turned back to the repair. Every muscle in his body screamed against the effort, but he leaned forward, gripping the power cables with a desperate resolve. Sparks erupted violently as he jammed the final relay into place, the emitter housing flickering weakly before surging to life with a faint, rhythmic hum.
“Got it!” Morrison shouted into the comms; his voice cracked with relief and exhaustion.
But the victory was short-lived. Another explosion rocked the section, the shockwave slamming into Morrison like a physical blow. He staggered, catching himself against the panel, only for a blinding flash to fill the corridor. An enemy shot struck just outside their position, tearing through the hull with brutal force.
The blast hurled Morrison across the compartment like a ragdoll, his body twisting mid-air before slamming into the far wall. The impact drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping silently as the metallic groan of the warped bulkhead echoed through the section. His pressure suit absorbed much of the initial force, but the sheer violence of the collision bent the metal beneath him, leaving a deep impression before he crumpled to the floor like a discarded doll.
The shield emitter hummed steadily, its rhythmic glow cutting through the smoke-filled air. It was a fragile beacon of triumph, a faint flicker of hope against the relentless chaos. But Morrison lay motionless, his chest rising and falling faintly, the labored breaths slowing until they stopped entirely. The hum of the emitter was the only sound, its steady rhythm a chilling contrast to the stillness in the compartment.
On the bridge, Brody’s console emitted a sharp beep, and he leaned forward, his eyes widening as the readings stabilized. “Emitter four is online!” he shouted, his voice breaking through the tension. “Shields are stabilizing!”
A collective sigh of relief rippled across the bridge, but it was short-lived. The momentary victory was tempered by the unspoken cost.
Colonel Young exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of responsibility. He closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself before speaking. “They got it working,” he said, his voice heavy with quiet respect. “Get them out of there. Now.”
Varro’s voice crackled over the comms, tight with strain and edged with worry. “I’ve been trying. They’re not responding to their radios.”
His words hung in the air, heavier than the oppressive red glow of the warning lights. A grim silence settled over the bridge as the crew exchanged tense glances. On the main display, the shield indicators flared brighter, holding steady under the Zevrin onslaught. The ship was alive, its systems stabilizing, but the sacrifice that secured their survival was etched into the faces of everyone on the bridge.
Young’s jaw tightened as he stared at the tactical display, the soft glow of the shield arcs reflected in his eyes. For a heartbeat, the chaos of the bridge seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of absence, the two empty seats that would never be filled again. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, and heavy with resolve.
“They did their duty,” he said, almost to himself, yet loud enough for every crewmember to hear. “And we honor them by making sure this ship survives. We get through this. For them.”
No one replied, but the bridge seemed to hold its breath. Greer’s hands tightened on his console, knuckles pale; Chloe blinked hard and turned back to her display; Eli’s lips pressed into a thin line, his usual humor buried under the weight of loss. Scott stood stiffly at his station, jaw set, eyes locked on the tactical screen as if his sheer focus could shield the crew from another casualty.
Across the bridge, Brody’s shoulders hunched over his console, his fingers moving on instinct, chasing power fluctuations without a word. A tremor ran through his hands that had nothing to do with the ship’s shuddering. Volker swallowed hard and adjusted sensor calibrations with deliberate care, refusing to let his eyes drift toward the empty space where their crewmates had once stood.
For a fleeting second, grief hung over them like a shadow, but the next pulse of incoming fire shook the deck and jolted them all back to the living. Consoles beeped, shields flickered, and survival once again demanded every heartbeat of their attention.
The crew moved in unison, driven by instinct and necessity. Fingers flew over controls, status lights flickered, and the hum of the engines swelled like a heartbeat in the silence between impacts. Every sound, the whine of the shields, the distant clatter of tools in engineering, the sharp tone of an alert, was a reminder that survival demanded they set their grief aside, at least for now.
The cost of their journey was no longer measured in power reserves or hull integrity. It was etched into memory, into the empty places where their people had been. And yet, Destiny pressed on, carrying the living forward, demanding that every sacrifice have meaning.
Destiny’s shields flared brightly, holding firm against the onslaught as the remaining Zevrin ships faltered. The nebula’s chaotic grasp tugged at their formation, and another gravitational anomaly claimed an enemy vessel, its engines sputtering before it vanished into the swirling darkness.
“They’re breaking formation!” Chloe called out, her voice cracking with a mix of relief and disbelief. “They’re pulling back!”
Young’s jaw tightened, his tone sharp but resolute. “Stay on course. Get us to the other side of this nebula while we have the chance.”
The Zevrin ships hesitated, their once-imposing presence now reduced to scattered, battered remnants. One by one, they retreated, their movements erratic as they fought to escape the nebula’s unforgiving grip. Destiny pressed forward, engines groaning under the strain, until the ship finally burst free from the nebula’s clutches and into the serene clarity of open space. The hum of the engines steadied, and the alarms that had been their constant backdrop fell silent.
Volker leaned over his console, his voice carrying the weight of their struggle. “We’re clear,” he reported, exhaling deeply. “No sign of pursuit.”
For a moment, the bridge was deathly quiet, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos that had just engulfed them. The crew exchanged weary glances, the weight of survival mingling with the heavy knowledge of what it had cost.
James’s voice broke through the quiet, trembling and raw over the comm. “It’s Morrison and Marsden, sir… they didn’t make it.”
The words landed like a blow, the atmosphere on the bridge growing even heavier. Young closed his eyes for a moment, his face etched with pain. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but resolute, carrying the unyielding resolve of a leader who bore the burden of every loss. “They gave us the chance to make it out alive. We won’t forget that.”
At his station, Rush remained hunched over his console, his hands motionless on the keys. He muttered, almost to himself, “A costly victory. But we’re still here. For now… and we are close to leaving this galaxy for good.”
The faint hum of Destiny’s engines filled the silence that followed, a steady pulse in the cold vacuum beyond. It should have been comforting, that familiar vibration beneath their feet, but it only seemed to underline the hollow ache in every chest. They had survived, but survival felt fragile, brittle, bought with the irreplaceable lives of their own.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The bridge lights flickered softly across faces carved by exhaustion and grief, each crewmember lost in the same silent acknowledgment: the ship moved on, but two souls would never walk her halls again. The quiet became their tribute, a solemn echo that threaded through steel corridors and humming conduits, marking the cost of one more step forward in a journey that asked too much and offered nothing in return but the chance to keep moving.
After a hard-won recharge at a lonely star skirting the edge of the nebula, Destiny slipped back into the void, her hull scarred and systems limping, a silent testament to the price of survival. The battle’s echoes clung to her like dust from a dying world. Every groan of metal and flicker of light whispered the toll, not only on the ship, but on the people who called her home.
The days that followed blurred into a muted procession of duty and quiet corridors. Laughter had fled, replaced by the soft hiss of hydraulics and the low murmur of voices kept to a hush, as if the ship herself were in mourning. Morrison and Marsden’s absence was a presence, a shadow that haunted every mess table, every workstation, every rotation on the bridge. The spaces they had once occupied seemed to echo with memory, a constant reminder that survival aboard Destiny always came with a cost.
The memorial took place on the observation deck, where the endless sweep of stars spilled across the glass in cold, silent witness. The crew gathered in a loose circle, boots scuffing softly against the deck, their voices absent, their grief a tangible weight that pressed the air still.
At the center of the room, a small altar had been assembled from the humble materials of survival, a storage crate draped with a dark cloth, its edges worn from use. Upon it rested two photographs of Morrison and Marsden, the faces of friends now frozen in time. Beside them, two slender candles burned, their flames trembling with every faint vibration of the ship, sending long, soft shadows across the walls. The light caught on the faces of the crew, revealing the hollowed eyes and tight jaws of people who had learned too well the cost of the journey.
Beyond the glass, Destiny drifted in solemn silence, the nebula a distant smear of shadow and light, and the steady thrum of the engines underfoot was the only sound, a heartbeat that went on, indifferent to the absence it now carried.
Camille stepped forward, the flickering candles casting long, wavering shadows across her face. She stood still for a moment, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if steadying herself against the weight of the moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but carried an unmistakable strength.
“Morrison and Marsden were more than just names on the roster. They were our friends, our shipmates… our family. They were the kind of people who never hesitated to step up, no matter the danger, because they believed in what we’re doing out here. They believed in us.”
Her voice faltered slightly, but she pushed on, her gaze sweeping across the crew. “It’s easy to lose sight of why we keep moving forward, why we fight so hard to survive. But they knew. They knew that our mission isn’t just about finding answers or chasing the unknown. It’s about proving that even out here, even in the darkest places, humanity can endure.”
She paused, her eyes glistening as she glanced at the makeshift altar. “They gave everything for that belief. And while we can’t repay the debt we owe them, we can honor their sacrifice by making sure it wasn’t in vain. By remembering that every step we take, every battle we survive, is because of them. Morrison and Marsden didn’t just protect our lives; they gave us the courage to keep living them.”
She stepped back, her composure steady despite the shimmer of tears in her eyes, leaving a silence that was as heavy as it was reverent.
Colonel Young stood still for a long moment, his hands resting on the back of a chair as he gathered his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raw, each word carrying the weight of his grief and responsibility.
“Morrison and Marsden weren’t just good men. They were brave men. They were the kind of people you’d want by your side in the worst moments, because you knew they wouldn’t back down. They didn’t back down.”
His gaze drifted toward the altar, his jaw tightening. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but what they did out there wasn’t just an act of duty. It was an act of courage, of selflessness. They didn’t hesitate, even when they knew the risks. Because they believed in the mission.”
Young’s voice cracked, but he pushed on, his words steady and unflinching. “We’re all carrying this loss right now. And we’re going to carry it for a long time. But the best way to honor them is to keep going. To keep fighting. To make sure that what they did out there means something.”
He paused, his eyes scanning the room, meeting each crewmember’s gaze in turn. “They gave us a chance to survive. And as long as I’m breathing, I’m going to make sure we don’t waste it. None of us will.”
Young lingered for a moment longer at the altar, his fingers brushing the edge of the draped crate in a gesture that was part farewell, part promise. He bowed his head, the faint glow of the candles catching in his weary eyes, and then he stepped back into the quiet.
No words followed, only the silence of shared grief, heavy and unbroken. The flicker of the candles painted the room in shifting gold and shadow, reflecting in tear-streaked faces and the glassy surface of the observation deck. Chloe stood with her arms folded tightly, head bowed, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Scott placed a steadying hand on Greer’s shoulder, the simple gesture speaking more than comfort than any words could offer.
Near the back, Rush lingered in the dim light, his posture rigid but his gaze uncharacteristically soft, fixed on the altar with a rare, quiet solemnity. Eli swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, his usual spark dimmed to a heavy silence, as though the weight of the moment had pressed all levity from him.
The ship’s hum threaded through the stillness, a reminder that the journey continued, even when the hearts aboard it faltered.
The ceremony ended quietly. One by one, the crew drifted away, some lingering to lay small tokens, a wrench, a notebook, a favorite pen, at the altar in remembrance of their fallen friends. Camille stayed behind for a moment, gazing out at the stars as if searching for answers, while Young remained near the altar, his hand resting on the edge of the crate, his head bowed.
The observation deck emptied slowly, leaving behind only the soft flicker of the candles and the hum of Destiny’s engines. The memorial lingered long after the crew dispersed, its weight settling over the ship like a heavy, unseen veil.
In the days that followed, grief reshaped the rhythm of life aboard Destiny. The corridors felt quieter, footsteps subdued, and the mess hall, once a place of scattered laughter and banter, had softened to low voices and clinking utensils. Morrison and Marsden’s absence was felt in every space they had once occupied.
Greer worked his pain out in the gym, every strike on the bag and every lap around the deck a wordless promise to protect what they had left. Rush grew quieter, his usual sharp edges worn smooth by reflection, spending hours alone at consoles, though his muttered calculations were softer now, less biting.
Chloe didn’t bury herself in work… she never had. Instead, she sought out the comfort of connection. Most nights, she could be found with Scott in the observation deck or tucked into a quiet corner of the ship, leaning against his shoulder as they watched the stars drift by. Words were rare between them, unnecessary; the silence they shared was enough. Sometimes they spoke softly of the two men they’d lost, sometimes of Earth and what felt like another lifetime. Other times they said nothing at all, letting the presence of each other be the only anchor they needed.
Scott drew strength from her steadiness, and she from his quiet resolve. Together, they became a living reminder to the rest of the crew that grief didn’t have to break them, that the bonds forged aboard Destiny were what would see them through the darkness.
Through it all, Destiny pressed forward, a lone heartbeat in the void. The loss of Morrison and Marsden would not leave them, but the crew carried it together, each in their own way, and that shared weight became its own kind of strength.
Eli sat in the observation deck one night, staring at the stars with a notebook in his lap, doodling aimlessly as tears rolled down his cheeks. TJ checked in on everyone, her quiet compassion a balm for the crew’s grief. Even Young, who rarely let his emotions show, could be seen sitting alone in his quarters, holding a photo of the crew and staring at it in silence.
Destiny pressed on, its engines humming with a steady resolve that mirrored the crew’s determination to endure. The observation deck, once a place for quiet stargazing and whispered hopes, had become a sanctuary of memory. The makeshift altar from the memorial remained, its candles flickering softly in the recycled air, casting long, shifting shadows along the walls.
Over the days that followed, more tributes had appeared. Pictures and sketches of those they had lost, Franklin, Riley, Telford, and others whose lives had been claimed by the journey, were carefully placed alongside Morrison and Marsden’s photographs. A few hand-drawn portraits, simple but heartfelt, had been taped to the walls, pencil lines capturing faces that still lived vividly in memory. There were scraps of messages scrawled in pen, quiet promises and words of gratitude left by the crew.
The observation deck had transformed into a shrine of shared history, the faces of the fallen gazing out over the endless stars as if still part of the voyage. Each flicker of candlelight played across their images, a fragile reminder of the cost of survival and the bonds that had turned strangers into family.
The crew passed through often now, some pausing to bow their heads, others lingering in silence as the stars stretched beyond the glass. The deck had become more than a place to grieve; it was a promise to remember, to carry the weight of those who could not walk the corridors anymore.
The loss of Morrison and Marsden was a wound that wouldn’t heal quickly, but the resilience of the crew was undeniable. Each step forward was a silent promise to honor their memory, a vow carried in the quiet moments of reflection and the determined actions of a team unwilling to give up. The weight of their sacrifice lingered in every corridor, but so too did the courage they had shown, a beacon for those who remained.
Behind Destiny, the galaxy they had left behind receded into a quiet haze, its turbulent battleground now just a distant smear of light. The chaos and danger that had defined their days dissolved into memory, replaced by the cold, solemn majesty of the void between galaxies. Ahead stretched an infinite darkness, vast and unyielding, where the stars were sparse and fragile, tiny, flickering whispers against an endless sea of black.
For the first time in weeks, the ship seemed to exhale. The relentless tension that had gripped every corridor and console began to soften, its weight lifting little by little, like a held breath finally released into the quiet.
On the bridge, the crew moved with a quiet, steady rhythm, a fragile calm settling over the heart of the ship. The low hum of the consoles blended with the soft vibration of the engines, a reminder that Destiny still carried them forward through the void.
Chloe sat at her station, the charts of the intergalactic expanse blooming in pale light before her. Her fingers drifted over the holographic display, tracing potential routes through the endless gulf between galaxies. Each path seemed impossibly long, yet her gaze was firm, her weariness tempered by a quiet determination. Eli approached and set a data report on her console. He offered her a small, lopsided smile, faint, but genuine, and for a moment the simple exchange felt like an ember of normalcy, a reminder that life aboard Destiny had not entirely been swallowed by loss.
At the central console, Rush was uncharacteristically composed. His sharp edges, the usual snap and sarcasm that punctuated every observation, had softened into a focused calm. He worked side by side with Brody and Volker, their heads bowed together over the labyrinth of monolith data. Holographic models spun in slow rotation, casting shifting shadows across their faces as they murmured to one another, plotting patterns, testing theories. For once, their collaboration carried no argument, only the shared pull of purpose.
The bridge felt different now, almost reverent. The echoes of battle and the weight of absence lingered in every creak of the hull, but beneath it all was a sense of quiet endurance, a crew that had been scarred, but not broken, charting its way into the infinite unknown.
Young stood at the center of the bridge, his posture steady despite the exhaustion etched into his features. He looked out at the faint, sparse stars beyond the viewport, his voice firm but laced with emotion. “We’ve got a long way to go,” he said, his gaze sweeping across the crew. “But we made it through this far.”
The words settled over the room like a solemn vow. One by one, the crew nodded, their silent agreement unspoken but palpable. Each returned to their station, the hum of activity resuming with purpose. The battle was over, but its echoes lingered in their minds, a reminder of the price they had paid to survive, and the determination it would take to keep going.
The void outside was immense, the faint stars scattered like distant whispers against the backdrop of darkness. Yet, there was something in that emptiness, a fragile but undeniable sense of possibility. The journey ahead was daunting, but it was also a canvas for new discoveries, a chance to find meaning in their struggles and answers to the questions that had driven them this far.
Destiny pressed onward, its engines a steady rhythm against the silence of the expanse. The shadow of the Zevrin loomed behind them, but for the first time in weeks, hope stirred among the crew. It wasn’t loud or triumphant, it was quiet, like the first light of dawn breaking through an endless night. It was the belief that the answers they sought were still out there, waiting to be uncovered, and that every step forward was a tribute to the sacrifices that had brought them here.
In the stillness of the bridge, Young glanced once more at the faint glow of the stars ahead, his voice a quiet murmur to himself as much as to the room. “We owe it to them… to all of us… to see this through.”
The journey continued, each moment a testament to their resilience and their resolve to find not just survival, but purpose in the vast unknown.
Epilogue: The Zevrin Oath
The grand chamber of the Zevrin Dominion’s command station was a vast cathedral of shadows and light, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into the darkness above. The crystalline monolith at its center pulsed with a spectral blue glow, casting rippling waves of light across the intricately carved obsidian walls. Rows of Zevrin warriors stood motionless in disciplined silence, their angular, jagged armor catching the flickering light. Each suit of obsidian black was adorned with shimmering glyphs of divine scripture, etched with an artistry that seemed both ancient and otherworldly.
The air itself felt alive, heavy with an electric charge that prickled against their metallic plating. The synchronized breaths of the assembled warriors created a low, rhythmic hum, like the heartbeat of the chamber itself. As their leader ascended the towering dais, the humming intensified, reverberating through the chamber until the very walls seemed to tremble.
High Keeper Thal’dar was a figure of imposing dread; his obsidian armor polished to a mirror-like sheen that reflected the flickering light of the monolith. Intricate engravings of glowing blue script coiled across his chest and arms, flowing like liquid fire. His helm, crowned with jagged spikes that jutted outward like the talons of a great predator, cast long, menacing shadows that stretched across the chamber floor, creating an ever-shifting mosaic of light and dark.
As Thal’dar reached the apex of the dais, his movements were deliberate, each step echoing like the tolling of a great bell. He raised his arms, the gesture commanding absolute silence. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chamber with a power that seemed to press against every surface.
“The heretics,” he began, his words echoing like thunder, “have defiled our sacred space and our God’s message.”
The glow of the monolith surged as he spoke, its light brightening momentarily as if amplifying his fury. The crystalline structure pulsed in rhythm with his words, sending cascading waves of blue light across the faces of the gathered warriors, highlighting their sharp, angular visages. Their glowing eyes flickered in unison, a sea of unwavering conviction.
“The monolith, a beacon of divine purity, has been tainted by unclean hands,” Thal’dar continued, his tone laced with venom. “Their very presence upon it is an insult to the sanctity of creation. Their survival is an affront to the divine.”
The air grew heavier as the High Keeper’s words hung in the chamber like a storm cloud ready to break. The monolith’s light flickered again, the glyphs along its surface shifting and shimmering, casting brilliant fractals of light that danced across the towering walls. Every Zevrin present stood locked in place, their discipline unshakable, yet their fury palpable.
A low murmur rippled through the gathered ranks, their indignation palpable. Thal’dar raised a gauntleted hand, and silence fell instantly.
“These heretics,” he continued, his voice growing sharper, “believe they can escape the judgment of the Dominion. But they underestimate our resolve. The vessel known as Destiny will be found, and it will be destroyed. Its crew will answer for their transgressions, and their ashes will serve as a warning to any who dare follow their path.”
Thal’dar descended the dais with a deliberate, measured grace, each step reverberating through the grand chamber like the drumbeat of war. His obsidian armor caught the flickering blue light of the monolith, the engraved glyphs on his chest and arms pulsing faintly in rhythm with the crystalline structure. The High Keeper’s clawed fingers moved with surgical precision over the console embedded in the monolith’s base, activating a pulsating display.
The holographic image of Destiny materialized in midair, its sleek silhouette surrounded by glowing markers tracing its trajectory toward the next galaxy. The sharp lines of Thal’dar’s helm reflected the shifting light, his glowing eyes narrowing with cold intensity beneath its jagged crown.
“Their way is clear,” Thal’dar announced, his voice deep and resonant, taking on a ceremonial cadence that filled the chamber. “We will not stand idle while they defile the divine path. Send word to our forces fighting for purity in the next galaxy. They are to intercept the Destiny and annihilate it. No effort is too great, no sacrifice too costly. The purity of our faith must be preserved.”
A sub-commander stepped forward from the rigid rows of warriors, his imposing frame bowing deeply. His face, half-concealed by the ornate plating of his helm, betrayed flickers of unease as his sharp features twisted in contemplation. “High Keeper,” he began, his voice steady but carrying an edge of hesitation, “shall we allocate additional fleets to pursue the heretics into the void?”
Thal’dar turned slowly, his glowing eyes locking onto the sub-commander with a piercing glare that froze him in place. “No,” the High Keeper replied, his tone sharp and absolute. “The fleets already in pursuit will maintain their hunt. To stray further would dilute our forces and dishonor the precision of our faith, we must continue to purify the galaxy. The contingent in the next galaxy will be sufficient, armed with the knowledge of their prey. They will not fail.”
The sub-commander bowed again, his jaw tightening as he retreated into the ranks, his expression obscured but his tension palpable. Around him, the other warriors remained impassive, their angular features set in expressions of fervent resolve. Eyes glowing faintly beneath their helms, their jaws clenched, their lips pressed into thin, unyielding lines, they were the embodiment of discipline and zealotry.
Activity began to ripple through the chamber as orders were transmitted. The faint hum of communication arrays grew louder, a symphony of readiness that resonated with the monolith’s steady pulse. Thal’dar turned back to the holographic display, the glowing image of Destiny flickering as it began to dissolve into the intricate patterns of the monolith’s sacred data streams.
“They cannot comprehend the forces they have unleashed,” Thal’dar murmured, his words more for himself than the gathered warriors. His voice carried a chilling certainty, each syllable dripping with disdain. “But they will learn. They will know the price of desecration.”
As the image vanished, the chamber’s light dimmed further, leaving only the faint, eerie glow of the monolith. The assembled warriors began to chant in unison, their deep voices echoing through the cavernous space. It was a vow, a prayer, a promise, a solemn declaration that the heretics would be eradicated, their memory wiped from existence.
The chanting grew louder, filling the chamber with a primal energy that seemed to reverberate through the very stone. Thal’dar stood at the center, his imposing form silhouetted against the monolith’s glow, his glowing eyes fixed on the path ahead. The hunt was far from over.
It had only just begun.
Brad Writes Worlds 
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