Chapter 1 — The Kalghtee

  (The year is 25,230)

  Silence.

  Then—engines. The low, steady hum of gatechain.

  Soldiers sit shoulder-to-shoulder at narrow tables, eating quietly. Some talk in low voices. One sleeps upright, still in uniform.

  A few new cadets sit huddled together.

  “You know where the resource office is yet?” one asks.

  “No,” another replies. “But we better find it quick. I hear the captain is real strict about this stuff.”

  “It’s by the bridge—Section One C, Room Four,” a third says. “The captain didn’t seem too bad. I met him coming aboard.”

  A junior officer jokes with a private.

  “You’re on latrine duty ‘til command pulls us. Two months. Maybe more.”

  “Could be worse,” the private says.

  The officer gives him a look that clearly means it will be—then moves on.

  In the medical bay, a nurse inventories supplies while two corpsmen haul a patient in on a gurney.

  In the cargo bay, ten massive pressure-sealed crates rest in perfect rows.

  CLV–RX7

  CLOVE FLU VACCINE

  CRYOGENIC

  DO NOT OPEN

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  An officer strolls beside a technician.

  “That’s a lot of meds,” the tech mutters.

  The officer laughs. “Orders came straight from Fleet Health Command. Probably a colony shipment.”

  “Still. Ten crates?”

  The officer shrugs. “Somebody must be expecting a damn pandemic.” He laughs. “Just get it stowed.”

  He signs the manifest.

  Behind him—unnoticed—a small access panel flashes red. Inside, a cable hums with rising energy. The cable runs the length of a corridor to a device hidden behind another wall panel. Its timer blinks:

  00:00:37

  In a maintenance corridor, a young crewman repairs a junction box. Sparks spit out.

  He snatches his hand back.

  “Damn thing’s hot… why is this hot?”

  He taps the conduit, confusion growing.

  A low tremor rolls through the floor.

  On the bridge, the door slides open. A young cadet—wide-eyed, full of wonder—steps inside, gripping the railing, taking in her first real assignment.

  A nav officer stiffens at her console.

  “Captain… we just lost control of vector thrusters.”

  Captain Arthur Hammond leans forward.

  “Say again?”

  The officer’s voice wavers.

  “Ship’s shifting trajectory, sir. I’m not doing this.”

  Arthur moves to the nav station.

  “Lock it down. Now.”

  He checks the vectors.

  “If we touch one of those rings, we’re all gonna have a really bad day.”

  The nav officer’s keyboard goes dead.

  “I’ve—got nothing.” She looks at Arthur for answers and finds none.

  Arthur hits a wall switch.

  All speakers burst to life.

  “All hands—brace for impact.”

  The Kalghtee drifts off course inside the gatechain—slow, unstoppable—toward the inner ring. Blue fire crawls across the hull like living lightning.

  Throughout the ship, alarms scream. Red lights spin.

  People run. A commander shouts orders no one hears.

  Unsecured cargo slams forward—crushing a soldier instantly.

  The Kalghtee is torn from the chain, spiraling toward a distant moon, engines burning plasma into the void.

  Darkness—

  In the White Void, Sarah leans over Arthur, her voice echoing through water.

  “Wake up.”

  Emergency lights flicker. Bulkheads bow inward. Wires hang like vines.

  Arthur—blood on his uniform—blinks awake.

  “I’m awake.”

  He pushes himself upright, then immediately checks the bridge crew.

  Under a fallen officer, he finds a single survivor—Cadet Juliet Varhee.

  Fresh from the academy.

  Bruised, cut, terrified—alive.

  Arthur leans into a dead console—half breathing, half praying.

  “Varhee, right?”

  She stammers, shock creeping in.

  “Yes, sir!” She sags back into her chair.

  Arthur manages a small smile.

  “You picked a hell of a first day, Varhee.”

  He clears debris from another console and sits.

  “See if you can get comms up.”

  For five minutes, he surveys what remains of his bridge.

  “You got communications yet?”

  Varhee—slumped beside a wrecked panel, covered in soot, trembling but unbroken—shakes her head.

  “Not yet, sir. Systems are severely damaged.” She scans the broken consoles. “Third deck collapsed. Maybe if we can reach the cargo bay, I can reroute something.”

  —

  Sarah sits in a white room on a red couch, surrounded by bookshelves stretching into infinity. A thin layer of water covers the floor. A violin rests on the table beside her.

  “How’s she holding up?” she asks the empty room.

  Arthur materializes beside her—quiet, tired.

  “She’s going to be fine. She’s tough.”

  He smiles faintly. “Smart.”

  He kisses her.

  “I’ll be back later.”

  And he vanishes.

  Please consider following, commenting, or leaving a review.

  Thank you for reading.