The scent of spiced meat and simmering grains filled the galley, mixing with the faint tang of recycled air and the ever-present hum of the freighter’s life support systems. Around a long, scarred table, the Fennecari family gathered for their evening meal, the flickering glow of string lights casting soft shadows across the vibrant murals decorating the walls. The paintings depicted sweeping desert landscapes, proud figures draped in flowing silks, and the golden dunes of their ancestors’ homeworld—scenes that carried the weight of generations in each careful brushstroke.

  The common area bore clear signs of its fox-like inhabitants—softly padded alcoves nestled in the walls for resting, a floor covered in thick, woven rugs designed for lounging comfortably with tails curled around them, and a faintly musky scent that spoke of home. Clusters of cushions were scattered around low tables, inviting a more natural, sprawled seating arrangement suited to their kind. Scratching posts and well-worn climbing holds were subtly integrated into the architecture, evidence of an instinctive need for movement and elevated perches.

  At the far end of the galley, nestled between the murals, was a small alcove. A single, lit candle flickered in the air currents as it sat on the shelf beneath a framed holoportrait, its edges worn from years of gentle touches. The image flickered gently, revealing a younger Fennecari woman draped in the colors of the Citadel, her eyes bright with pride and toothy smile wide. A delicate braid of woven fabric and metal thread, once part of her uniform, rested beside the frame, an unspoken reminder of the past.

  Captain Velia, Dr. Teklen, Commander Zireal, Lieutenant Liora, flight apprentice Joean, and the twins, Chika and Aelar, all sat around the well-worn table, their warm and lively chatter filling the family quarters.

  Liora nudged her younger brother, Aelar, who was attempting to sneak an extra portion of roasted root vegetables onto his plate. “Did you help cook?” she teased, ears twitching with amusement.

  Aelar scowled, his tail fluffing out in protest. “I set the table!”

  “That doesn’t count,” Chika chimed in, grinning as she snatched the stolen vegetables off his plate and popped one into her mouth before he could retaliate.

  Dr. Teklen, chuckled, shaking his head as he ladled out stew for their mother. “At least wait until after dinner to start a war, kits.”.

  Captain Velia, narrowed her eyes at the twins, casting a glance at their father. "No wars at the dinner table!"

  Zireal, seated beside their mother at the head of the table, his gaze flicked towards the memorial for the briefest moment. His ears twitched, but his expression remained unreadable as he turned back to his family. His eyes softening as he surveyed his family with a quiet smile.

  He rarely partook in the playful back-and-forth as much as his younger siblings, but he never missed a chance to observe. To listen. Tonight, the ship felt safe—no immediate threats, no signs of trouble. Just another night in the vastness of space, with family and food to remind them that home wasn’t a place, but the people around them.

  Velia cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “Tomorrow, Engineering should have the repairs completed on the drive manifold. Afterward, the ship will return to jump configuration. All hands will be needed for this, so help where you can. Once we complete the jump plan and our calculations are gone over, we will jump at the earliest window of opportunity and hopefully hit the next hub before something else breaks. I expect you all to be ready—no sneaking off to harass the engineers,” she added with a pointed look at Aelar, who had the grace to look guilty.

  Her gaze then turned to Joean, who laid his ears back and sneered at his plate. “Or the flight simulator,” she finished pointedly.

  Liora smirked. “What about Zireal? Are we sure he won’t vanish into the weapons bay again?”

  “I only do that when I’m needed,” Zireal replied evenly, his tail flicking.

  "Unlike you, little Miss ‘I want to fight anyone who looks at me twice.'"

  Liora flicked her ears. "It’s called sparring, not fighting. You’d know that if you stopped burying your nose in sensor readings."

  Teklen sighed, rubbing his temples. “I swear, I have three soldiers and two engineers instead of children.”

  Velia grinned and gave him a low chuckle, leaning in to brush her nose against Teklen’s in a brief nuzzle. "You wouldn't have them any other way."

  Dr. Teklen straightened with a jerk, his eyes widening, ears flicking in surprise. His tail gave an involuntary thump against the cushion before he let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Velia, if you keep that up, I might just forget there's a table full of kits watching."

  "Oh gross!" Aelar groaned, dramatically pushing his plate away.

  Chika gagged, clutching her throat. "Please, not at dinner."

  Liora flicked her ears back in exaggerated horror. "Mother, Father, have mercy on our innocent eyes."

  Velia smirked, eyes glinting in amusement. With a toothy vulpine grin, she leaned in and gave her husband a long, exaggerated lick across his cheek, her tail flicking with mischief. The reaction was immediate—Aelar toppled sideways off his cushion, Chika screeched as if personally wounded, and Joean threw his napkin over his face as if shielding himself from the horror.

  "You’ll live," Velia said breezily, casting a side glance at her husband with a wink as she sipped from her cup, while Teklen gave her a toothy grin and waggled his eye brows.

  "This is abuse," Joean muttered dramatically.

  "No, this is payback for every prank you kits have ever pulled on us," Teklen countered, his grin widening. "And believe me, your mother and I keep track."

  Liora groaned. "We’re doomed."

  Teklen, still grinning, shook his head as he returned to his meal, the warmth of the moment lingering even as the children continued their playful complaints.

  “We’re a family of survivors,” Velia said, raising her cup. “And as long as we have each other, we always will be.”

  The toast was met with the soft clinking of cups, a quiet moment of unity before conversation resumed, full of laughter, teasing, and the easy warmth of home.

  Several hours later, the freighter’s steady hum shifted in pitch. Captain Velia, curled up against her husband with her tail folded over her nose, blinked open one eye just as a soft chirp disturbed the hush of their quarters. She sat up slightly, causing Teklen to groan and tighten his arm around her waist.

  “What could be so urgent,” he muttered, voice heavy with sleep, “that they’d interrupt us in the middle of the recovery shift?”

  Velia reached for her com band on the small shelf beside their bed. Their quarters, though compact, were cozy—padded alcoves, a woven rug underfoot, and a few family keepsakes placed on a narrow wall shelf. She glanced at the notification, then exhaled a quiet breath of relief.

  “No emergency,” she said. “Just the all-clear on the manifold repairs. They’re spooling the engines now, and if all goes smoothly, by this time tomorrow we’ll be docking at the Huropan Hub—fingers crossed we don’t see a repeat of last jump’s meltdown.”

  Teklen snorted softly and shifted closer to her. “Thank the sands. Once the cargo is unloaded, I’m prescribing the entire crew some R&R—doctor’s orders. Though I suspect our kits will find a way to keep us on our toes.”

  Velia let out a melodramatic sigh, draping her tail over Teklen’s arm. “If that’s an official order, I suppose I have no choice but to obey. Just don’t complain when I steal all the blankets.”

  “Steal away, My Captain,” he teased, pressing his muzzle gently to her ear. “I’ve survived worse.”

  The soft, rhythmic hum of the engines lulled them both. Velia nestled against Teklen and closed her eyes, the gentle night-light fading slightly around them. Soon, all was still—save for the distant mechanical pulse of a ship readying itself for the next jump.

  …

  Zireal sat at his console, fingers drumming absently against the rim of his steaming cup of caraf as he scrolled through the latest shift reports. The ship thrummed with the quiet efficiency of post-maintenance operations, yet something in the data pulled at the edges of his attention. His eyes narrowed as he flicked back through the last shift’s sensor readouts of the system.

  Then he saw it.

  The color drained from his face, his ears snapping upright in alarm. "Sands—" he swore under his breath, nearly knocking over his cup as he surged from his seat. He bolted from the control room, his claws clicking against the deck as he sprinted full-tilt through the corridors, weaving around startled crew members, many of whom were forced to flatten themselves up against the bulkhead to avoid getting run over.

  By the time he burst onto the bridge, Captain Velia was already seated, issuing quiet orders. She turned, ears flicking back at the blatant disregard for order. She swallowed the rebuke on her tongue at the sight of her son’s breathless urgency.

  "Report," she demanded, sharp and steady.

  Zireal struggled to catch his breath, his tail lashing. "Captain—you need to see this. Now."

  He practically thrust the tablet into her hands. The bridge fell into a hush as the ominous scans illuminated the screen. Her fur stood on end as she went over the highlighted part of the report, her ears flicking sharply as she scanned the data. Her tail lashed once, a telltale sign of alarm, before she slammed the tablet down against the armrest of her chair and reached for the ship-wide comms.

  "All hands—"

  Before she could finish, the ship rocked violently, sending crew members stumbling as alarms blared throughout the bridge and smoke poured from one for the console. Another impact struck from the opposite side before anyone could regain their footing, sending sparks showering from an overloaded console.

  Velia grabbed the armrests of her chair for support, her voice sharp over the chaos. "Damage report, now!"

  Before anyone could respond, the comms crackled with an eerie, static-laced voice. "Ah, Captain Velia, I do hope we're not interrupting anything important." The drawling, mocking tone sent a chill down her spine.

  Zireal's fur bristled. A low growl rumbled from his chest through bare teeth.

  Drosk’s voice oozed through the speakers. "I have to admit, Captain, I expected a bit more fight out of you. But then again… I suppose your reputation has always been bigger than your bite. A shame. You’ve got a good crew. I wonder how many will still be breathing by the time I’m done here."

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Another impact rocked the ship. Outside, the freighter spun, rolling between streaks of plasma. The pirates boxed them in, tightening the noose.

  "Tactical, return fire!" Velia ordered. "Give them everything we've got!"

  A pulse cannon blast struck a pirate ship, sending it into a fiery spiral.

  "Direct hit!" a gunner called.

  "Shields at seventy percent and dropping!" one of the officers called out. "Hull breaches reported on decks three and five!"

  Velia snarled. "Bring up external visuals! Now!"

  The main display flickered to life, revealing the looming shapes of pirate vessels emerging from the darkness of space. Their angular hulls, painted in jagged warstripes, were already adjusting positions to encircle them.

  Drosk's voice oozed through the speakers again. "Now, now, no need for hostility. Let's be civil about this. You have something I want, and I have all the time in the galaxy to take it."

  Velia bared her teeth. "You're not getting a damn thing, Drosk."

  "Brace for evasive maneuvers!" Velia barked, gripping the arms of her chair. "Helm, take us into a defensive spin—make them work for their shots!"

  Another impact rocked the ship, and this time, a deep shudder ran through the deck beneath them. The ship lurched as the pilot executed a slow roll, its massive frame groaning in protest as it twisted away from a fresh barrage of plasma fire.

  One of the smaller pirate craft veered too close, attempting to close a widening gap in the formation. Until a well-timed pulse cannon blast struck its side, punching through the ship’s armor plating and through the other side sending out a spray of crew and debris into the vacuum.

  The pirate vessel listed for a bit before it erupted in a sudden, violent explosion, sending debris spiraling in all directions. The freighter’s crew let out a brief cheer—one enemy down—but the moment was fleeting.

  For a brief moment, the freighter twisted through an opening, breaking from the tightening formation. But the pirate vessels quickly compensated, sealing off any chance of escape.

  The pirate vessels adjusted their formation, boxing them in. Their hulls gleamed in the reflected light of their own weapon discharges.

  Zireal moved swiftly to a secondary console, his claws tapping rapidly over the interface. "They’re trying to cut off our escape vectors! Their formation is tightening—we won’t be able to jump if they keep this up!"

  Velia’s ears flattened. "Weapons, return fire! Give them everything we've got! If we can’t outrun them, we sure as Suren's blaze can cripple them!"

  A deep thrum echoed through the ship as its pulse cannons fired, streaking bolts of energy across the void. Another of the smaller pirate vessels took a direct hit, spiraling away as its engines flared out in a bright explosion.

  "Direct hit!" one of the gunners called out. "But the lead ship is still coming in fast!"

  Drosk’s voice returned, smug and unbothered. "Ah, there’s the fight I was hoping for. A shame it won’t last. Let’s see how much fire you have left when my men start tearing through your decks."

  The bridge fell silent for a fraction of a second before a new alarm blared through the ship—boarding clamps had latched onto the hull.

  "They’re cutting through!" an officer shouted. "Multiple breaches detected on decks two and four!"

  Velia stood, her fur bristling. "Security teams, arm up! Hold the lines! No one lets these bastards take our ship!"

  …

  Liora sprinted down the corridor, her pulse pounding in her ears as the echoes of distant impacts rattled through the bulkheads. She skidded to a stop near the security station, where the rest of her team was already scrambling into position, weapons drawn. The emergency lights bathed everything in a crimson hue, making the scene feel even more desperate.

  "They're coming through the forward hatch on deck two!" a voice crackled over the comms.

  Liora’s grip tightened around her rifle. "We hold them here," she ordered. "Set up barricades! Aim for the visors—make every shot count!"

  The first breach exploded inward with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel and sparks in all directions. Smoke billowed from the ruined hatch as the first wave of boarders stormed through—hulking figures in patchwork armor, their eyes wild and unfocused, their movements erratic and aggressive. They shrieked with manic laughter as they opened fire, undeterred by the bullets and plasma blasts striking their bodies. Some stumbled forward even after being shot, their wounds barely registering. Whatever cocktail of stimulants and combat drugs they had taken turned them into frenzied berserkers, their pain threshold seemingly nonexistent.

  One by one, the security team fell, overwhelmed by sheer numbers and the sheer madness of their foes. The pirates fought with reckless abandon, some charging straight into gunfire without hesitation, others clawing at their own wounds in seeming exhilaration. Liora shot a boarder three times in the chest before realizing—he wasn't stopping. He lunged at her, frothing at the mouth, eyes bloodshot, only to finally crumple after she buried her blade deep into his throat. She looked up—no more pirates. Hope flared in her chest.

  The thought barely formed before a rifle butt slammed into her gut, knocking the breath from her lungs. She crumpled to her knees, gasping, just as two more pirates crashed onto her, pinning her down.

  Across the ship, the bridge crew fought desperately to hold their ground, but it was clear—Velia’s ship was lost. The pirates moved like rabid animals, their manic energy giving them the advantage against the exhausted defenders. One leapt onto a console, cackling as he smashed his rifle into the controls, sparks flying around him. Another wrestled a crew member to the ground, gnashing his teeth like a beast before slamming their head against the floor repeatedly.

  Velia refused to surrender, her tail lashing in defiance as she glared at the intruders. Before she could issue another order, the largest of them stepped forward and struck her across the face, sending her sprawling onto the deck.

  "Captain, we need them alive," one of the pirates muttered to Drosk over the comm.

  Drosk’s voice crackled in response. "Fine. Take them all. Lock them down while we loot the ship. Any who resist—make an example of them."

  As the pirates rounded up the surviving crew and forced them to their knees, another scene played out in the lower decks. Noncombatants scrambled to shove valuables, data drives, and anything of importance into the ship’s vault, their hands shaking as they worked. The ship trembled with every impact, the structure groaning under the relentless assault. Shouts and hurried footsteps echoed through the narrow corridors as they worked as fast as they could, their fear barely contained.

  "Move! Move! We don’t have much time!" someone barked, their voice laced with desperation.

  Crates were shoved through the narrow opening one after another, hands fumbling to secure vital supplies before the pirates breached the last defensive barrier. The vault, a final bastion of security, stood as their last hope to preserve anything of value.

  In the chaos, Chika slipped inside unnoticed, weaving between frantic crew members. She barely understood the urgency—only that something important was happening. Her eyes flicked between the crates and the vault’s control panel, its blinking lights hypnotic. Without thinking, she reached out, fingers grazing the cool metal. The doors slid closer. She should have moved. But fascination held her frozen just a moment too long.

  Then, the klaxon wailed—an alert signaling that the vault was about to seal.

  Chika’s ears flattened in sudden realization. "Wait—!" she gasped, scrambling to her feet, but the heavy doors slammed shut with an echoing finality, plunging the vault into near silence.

  Outside, the frantic yells turned to desperate cries as the last of the crew were rounded up by the invading pirates. The ship belonged to the enemy now, but deep within its hold, sealed away from the chaos, Chika pressed herself against the cold walls of the vault, her heart hammering in her chest.

  The pirates rounded up the surviving crew, forcing them to their knees as the stench of blood and burning circuitry filled the bridge. Zireal growled low in his throat as rough hands wrenched his arms behind his back, his claws digging into his palms as he fought against the restraint. His ears twitched at the sound of boots clomping across the deck.

  Then came the voice he hated most in the universe.

  "Well, well," Drosk drawled, stepping into view, his smug grin stretching across his scarred face. "If it isn't Zireal. Of all the miserable tin cans in this sector, I didn't expect to stumble across you. Still taking orders, I see. Tell me, do they even let you off the leash, or do you still spend your days trying to live up to your dead sister’s name?"

  Zireal’s entire body tensed as if struck. His breath hitched, and for a brief second, there was nothing but silence, thick and suffocating. Then, his muscles coiled, his claws flexing so hard they threatened to pierce his own palms. His vision tunneled, the scent of blood and burning metal mixing with the phantom memory of a battlefield long past—his sister’s last breath, the wreckage, the betrayal.

  A guttural snarl ripped from his throat, pure fury flashing through him like a wildfire. He lunged against his restraints, his shoulders burning from the force, but the pirates holding him only laughed, tightening their grip.

  Drosk chuckled, the sound as grating as ever. "Oh, that got a rise out of you. What, still sore about that day? Poor little golden boy, always trying to play hero." He crouched in front of Zireal, his grin widening. "You should thank me, really. If she hadn’t died, do you think anyone would have even noticed you? I did you a favor."

  Zireal’s growl deepened into something nearly primal, his fangs bared in a savage grimace. "You talk about her again, and I will tear your throat out with my teeth."

  Drosk mockingly raised his hands. "Oh, scary. But look who's on his knees now." He reached out and mockingly patted Zireal's head, his claws grazing through his fur. "And look who’s giving the orders. I’d say that makes me the better man after all."

  Zireal snapped his head forward, teeth bared in a vicious snarl, barely missing Drosk’s fingers. The pirate captain jerked back with a sharp laugh. "Still got some bite left in you. Good. That’ll make this more fun."

  Before Drosk could reveal further in his taunts, a low, venomous voice cut through the tense air.

  "You dare speak of my daughter?" Velia's voice was ragged but sharp as steel. She had lifted herself onto her knees, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth where she had been struck. Her golden eyes burned with raw fury as she glared up at Drosk. "You are nothing but filth, a coward who slithers through the stars taking what he could never earn. She was twice the warrior you will ever be."

  Drosk turned to her with a smirk, clearly pleased to have struck another nerve. "Oh, spare me the grieving mother act, Captain. She died because she was weak. Just like the rest of you are now." He spread his arms theatrically. "And look at this—you, your son, your entire crew—on your knees. Tell me, Captain—does it burn more knowing you didn’t just lose your daughter to me? You lost of them. And here you are, helpless, watching history repeat itself."

  Velia lunged, her bound hands twisting as she aimed to rake her claws across his face. The pirates holding her yanked her back hard, forcing her shoulders painfully into their grip, but her eyes never left Drosk’s. "Mark my words, Drosk," she snarled, her voice laced with quiet, seething rage. "Before this is over, Drosk, you’ll be choking on more than your words."

  Drosk only chuckled, turning back to Zireal with a mock sigh. "Like mother, like son. Full of fire, but ultimately useless." He plopped himself into the captain’s chair, grinning as the pirates dragged their prisoners from the bridge. "Take them away. I think I’ll enjoy deciding what to do with them later."

  ....

  Across the system, on the far side of the gas giant, the pilot of Corvette Eight snorted. "This is a damn waste of time. Even if there was something here, it’d be scrap by now."

  His co-pilot frowned at the sensor display. "Then why do we keep getting intermittent readings? Something is down there."

  The pilot shook his head. "Drosk’s just covering his ass." He adjusted the scan range, barely paying attention. "Soon as we—"

  The console flickered.

  Aboard Corvette Nine, Commander Talis frowned at his console.

  He adjusted the scan parameters. The signal was too faint, like an echo of something that didn’t want to be seen.

  "Anything?" his co-pilot asked.

  Talis hesitated. "Something. But…"

  Another sudden flicker. A pulse of energy. Faint, but real. The console in front of the pilot of Corvette Six chirped with a warning.

  He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Commander, I’ve got something."

  Talis glanced at a flashing alert on his console—just for a second. When he looked up again, Corvette Six was gone.

  A hush fell over the bridge, replaced by the sharp, rapid beeping of proximity alarms.

  The void where Corvette Six had been was now a cloud of dispersing debris, flickering with the dying embers of a catastrophic explosion.

  "What the hell—" Talis’s co-pilot choked out, hands scrambling over the controls to pinpoint the source of the attack.

  "Sensors aren’t reading anything! It’s like—"

  Another blast, this time from beneath them. Corvette Eight’s signal flared for a split second before vanishing from the tactical grid, its remains consumed by the churning, stormy clouds of the gas giant below.

  "We’re under attack! All ships, evasive maneuvers!" Talis barked, gripping the edges of his console as Corvette Nine banked hard just in time to avoid an unseen strike.

  The ship’s external lights flashed, sweeping across the void—revealing a specter emerging from the swirling mist below. A vessel unlike anything the pirates had ever seen rose from the churning atmosphere—dark and massive, its form a phantom against the storm. It moved with an almost unnatural precision, as though the ship and its pilot were one. Its weapons flared into existence for a split second before vanishing into the mist, striking with eerie accuracy before fading like ghosts.

  "I can’t get a lock!" a weapons officer shouted. "It’s jamming us—"

  A sharp impact rocked Corvette Nine, sending crew sprawling. Talis grabbed his chair, teeth bared. "Comms, get a distress signal out! Now!"

  "I—I’m trying, sir! Comms are dead—something’s blocking our entire signal!"

  Another blast. Corvette Two’s marker blinked red, then disappeared entirely from the scanners.

  "It’s picking us off! We have to—" Talis’s words were lost in the shriek of metal as something struck the ship. Lights flickered, screens overloaded with error messages. The bridge plunged into a nightmarish mix of flickering emergency lights and the wails of the dying ship.

  Talis gritted his teeth, slamming his hand against the console. "We have to warn—"

  His voice never finished the thought. The final impact came without warning—ripping through the ship in a violent cascade of light and fire. And then, Corvette Nine was no more.