Erica drifted in warmth, her senses slow to return. There was no pain, no sharp jolt of panic forcing her into consciousness. For the first time since she had awoken on this alien vessel, she wasn’t gasping for air or clawing her way out of some crisis.

  The restoration pool cradled her weightless form, the thick, gel-like fluid wrapping around her like a cocoon. It tingled against her skin—an odd, almost electric sensation, like the faintest hum of static beneath her fingertips. It seeped into her muscles, suffusing her body with a deep warmth that chased away the exhaustion that had settled in her bones.

  She exhaled slowly, feeling the thick liquid stream past her lips in slow, dense bubbles. It wasn’t like breathing air—there was weight to it, a strange resistance as it moved through her lungs before escaping into the fluid around her. The sensation was unsettling, her body instinctively expecting the burning ache of drowning, yet it never came.

  Instead, there was only warmth, the faintest tingle lingering in her chest as the restoration pool sustained her. Her brow furrowed as her eyes fluttered open. Dim light filtered through the liquid, casting gentle shadows across the curved walls of the chamber. The weightlessness was soothing, almost hypnotic, and for a brief, blissful moment, she simply let herself exist.

  Then, awareness crept back in.

  The Steward.

  She could sense him—not in the way she would normally perceive another presence, but as a distant, silent focus, like the hum of machinery just beyond hearing. He was engaged with something, though what, she couldn’t quite tell. The connection between them was faint, as though his attention was stretched elsewhere.

  Her fingers curled, stirring the fluid around her. Something caught her eye—a thin, jagged crack running across the viewport beside her.

  She frowned, tilting her head slightly. The fracture in the glass was fine, like the delicate veins in a leaf, but it stood out starkly against the otherwise pristine surface. How had that happened? The reinforced material should have been able to withstand anything.

  Shouldn’t it?

  Her thoughts swam sluggishly as she reached toward the crack, fingers brushing against the cool surface. There was no sign of impact, no splintering outward from a central point.

  Had something struck the glass? No—if something had hit with enough force to crack it, she should have been injured. A shudder crawled down her spine. If it had broken completely…

  Her breath hitched.

  Why wasn’t she hurt?

  Memory flickered. The system of seven stars, the overwhelming heat pressing in, the moment her body could no longer handle it.

  Then—nothing.

  The Steward had told her once—the fluid that surrounded her wasn’t just for support. It had healing properties. It kept her body from succumbing to its injuries, repairing what was broken, stabilizing what should have failed.

  She swallowed, exhaling again as the realization settled. The glass had cracked, but she had not. The restoration pool had saved her.

  For how long?

  Her gaze lingered on the fracture, unease curling in her gut.

  Somewhere beyond the chamber, the ship hummed faintly around her. And the Steward—

  He was still watching something else.

  The connection between them wavered, distant but present, and then—

  She felt it.

  The surge of awareness, the sharp clarity of something herself. Not just the hum of the ship’s systems, but something vast, calculated, precise. The Steward’s focus shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, and she knew—

  He was finishing something.

  Erica’s pulse quickened, she reached out—mentally, instinctively—toward the presence she had come to know as the ship’s AI. The moment she did, the distance between them evaporated like mist in the sun.

  And she saw it.

  A vast field of wreckage, debris floating aimlessly through the void. The last remnants of a fleet being wiped away, methodically, relentlessly. The shattered husks of pirate vessels drifted like corpses in the dark, some still sparking, others frozen in eerie silence.

  One ship remained.

  The final pirate vessel’s engines flared—its systems pushed to their limit as it scrambled for escape.

  The Steward locked onto it.

  “This one flees.” His voice echoed in her mind, distant yet unyielding. “I am calculating the probability of its return.”

  Erica’s stomach twisted. The raw efficiency of it, the utter detachment. He wasn’t just engaging enemies; he was dissecting them, eliminating threats with a precision that sent a shiver through her.

  The pirate ship flickered, its jump drive spooling up.

  A sharp pulse of energy flared across the void as the Steward fired. The shot struck true, tearing through the ship’s hull just as its engines peaked. The vessel lurched violently, flames erupting from its side, debris scattering into the black.

  Erica gasped, feeling the calculated weight of the strike. But before the Steward could fire again, the pirate vessel’s jump drive engaged.

  The ship vanished, leaving only scorched wreckage in its wake.

  Silence stretched between them. The Steward did not move to pursue. Instead, there was a pause, a measured recalibration. His focus shifted once more.

  Onto her.

  The sensation of his awareness deepened, settling over her like a weight. “You have adapted.”

  Erica hesitated, her mind still adjusting to the lingering weight of the Steward’s presence. Something tugged at the edges of her thoughts, a question she hadn’t fully grasped until now.

  "How... how am I seeing this?" she asked. "I’m inside the ship. Inside the pool. But I saw the battle like I was right there. I saw it before I even woke up." Her voice wavered slightly, the strangeness of it settling over her like a second skin.

  The Steward processed her words in the way only he could—a pause that was not hesitation, but calculation.

  “What you perceive is a neural translation of the ship’s sensor data.” His tone was clinical, precise. “Your consciousness is interpreting the information in a way that aligns with your sensory expectations.”

  Erica’s brows furrowed. "You mean... the ship’s sensors are acting like my eyes?" The thought was as unsettling as it was fascinating.

  “In a manner of speaking.” A fractional pause. “Your neural link has grown stronger. What you once perceived as fragmented signals are now constructing a more complete sensory experience.”

  She exhaled slowly, trying to process it. "So... I wasn’t actually it. My brain just I was?"

  “Correct.”

  Erica swallowed. That explained a lot—but it also left new questions unanswered. If her mind was adapting this quickly, how much further could this go? How much more of the ship could she without her own eyes?

  Erica blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift. “What?” Her voice was a whisper in the fluid, but she knew he could hear her.

  “Your synchronization with the nanites has progressed further than projected. Your neural link is more stable. Your biological integrity has improved.”

  Her fingers twitched, then curled. The crack in the viewport swam back into focus. Was that why she had survived? Had the nanites played a role in her recovery?

  “What happened after I passed out?” she asked, her thoughts still sluggish, catching up with everything she was seeing and feeling.

  The Steward hesitated—a fraction of a second too long. “I engaged hostile forces.”

  Her brow furrowed. “And?”

  “They were dealt with.”

  Erica looked back at the wreckage, her gaze narrowing as she noticed one ship that was different from the others.

  "Isn’t that the freighter you said was in the system?" Her voice carried a note of uncertainty. "Where did these others come from, and what made you attack them?"

  The Steward’s response was immediate. “Displaying recorded sensor data.”

  The wreckage faded from her awareness, replaced by the sensation of movement—no, not movement, but perspective. She wasn’t seeing with her own eyes, but through the ship’s sensors. The past played out before her as though she were reliving it.

  The system of seven stars unfolded in her mind, bright and blistering, the gas giant looming massive and volatile. The freighter appeared first, its battered hull drifting cautiously into the system. Then, ghostlike ripples in space heralded the arrival of others—small scout ships first, weaving through the system like predators testing the air.

  She felt the Steward’s curiosity, his cold calculation as he monitored their approach. Then, the flotilla arrived. A formation of pirate vessels emerged from the gas giant’s turbulent shadow, surrounding the freighter in a precise, well-coordinated ambush.

  “This was a predatory maneuver,” the Steward explained. “The freighter was the intended prey.”

  Erica exhaled, watching the unfolding events with a critical eye. The moment the pirates attacked the freighter, the pieces clicked together in her mind. They weren’t some random military force or a scouting fleet. They were scavengers. Thieves. Pirates.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Figures," she muttered. "Bastards got what was coming to them."

  She continued to observe as the sensor playback replayed the destruction of the pirate flotilla, her stomach only twisting slightly when the final ship slipped away.

  “Frag it all,” she muttered, shaking her head. “They never stood a chance.”

  "Shame you didn’t finish off that last one," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "Would’ve saved us the trouble of running into them later."

  She let out a slow breath, her eyes drifting back to the shattered remains of the freighter. They’d never had a chance—not against the pirates, and not against what came after.

  A pang of regret surfaced. "Not that it would’ve made a difference," she murmured. "We were too late either way." Erica watched as the pirates hailed the freighter, their demands sharp, their confidence absolute. They expected no resistance.

  They had not expected the Steward.

  Sensor scans painted a stark picture—gunports locking, targeting systems activating. The pirates fired first, tearing into the freighter’s weakened hull.

  And then, the shadows around them moved.

  A new perspective—Steward’s perspective—overlaid itself, revealing how the ship’s systems had activated, how weapons had locked onto each vessel in a sequence so fast it defied natural reflexes. The battle was over before it had begun.

  Erica felt the first strike, the cold, calculated release of energy as the Steward disabled the scouts before they could even register the threat. The flotilla crumbled as the attack began—pinpoint shots severing engines, slicing through shields, rendering them defenseless before finishing them with deadly precision.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The recon squad had been first.

  Then the freighter’s ambushers.

  And finally, the last vessel, which had escaped.

  The playback faded, and Erica was left staring at the wreckage once more.

  Her chest tightened. "You wiped them all out."

  “They were hostile elements. They would not have permitted survival. I ensured the freighter would not become salvage.”

  Erica’s fingers curled. The sheer detachment in his words sent a chill through her. "You didn’t just fight them—you dismantled them."

  A beat of silence.

  “Yes.”

  Erica exhaled slowly, letting her thoughts settle as she studied the wreckage once more. The shattered remains of the pirate fleet drifted silently, and beyond them, the freighter sat eerily still. Something about it tugged at her curiosity.

  She shifted slightly in the restoration fluid, her mind latching onto a new question.

  "So... what now?" she asked. "The hydrogen tanks feel full. Can we use anything from the wreckage to restock our resources?"

  There was a brief pause, the kind that suggested the Steward was already processing possibilities.

  “Several salvageable components remain within the debris field. Recovery would require time and energy expenditure.”

  There was something else in his tone—reluctance. Erica frowned slightly. "You don’t want to use the wreckage. Why?"

  “The materials are substandard.” The Steward’s response was as measured as ever. “Degraded hull plating, inefficient energy cells, and components designed with primitive tolerances. Integration with this vessel would be... inelegant.”

  Erica rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, we’re not exactly in a position to be picky, are we?" She gestured vaguely toward the debris field. "Something is better than nothing. We can’t just rely on what we already have—eventually, we’re going to need every scrap we can get."

  The Steward remained silent for a moment longer than usual. Then:

  “Acknowledged. Salvage operations will commence.”

  Erica smirked in quiet victory but didn’t dwell on it. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the freighter. The damage to it was extensive, but something about its design, its very presence, made her want to know more.

  "What about the freighter?" she asked. "Is there anything worth salvaging from it? More importantly... what kind of people lived on that ship?"

  The Steward did not immediately respond. The silence stretched just long enough for her to realize the answer before he spoke.

  "This vessel’s database lacks specific information regarding that freighter. It does not match any known registry within the accessed subspace communications networks."

  Erica frowned. "So, you don’t know?"

  "Correct."

  That only made her more curious. If the Steward didn’t have records on the ship, then there was no easy way to find out where it had come from. That meant the only way to get answers was to go inside.

  "We should bring it in," she said. "There might be something useful aboard."

  "Negative." The response was immediate. "Exploration of an unstable vessel poses unnecessary risk. Available resources can be gathered externally."

  Erica sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Look, I get it—you’re protective. But what if there’s something valuable inside? Something we can use? Spare parts, supplies—hell, even just information."

  Another pause. Then, "The vessel’s structural integrity is compromised. I lack sufficient mass reserves to fabricate storage space large enough to accommodate the entire freighter within my hold."

  Erica’s brows furrowed. "What about just the habitable sections?" She gestured vaguely at the wreck. "You don’t need the whole ship—just enough of it to search through."

  The Steward was silent for a beat longer than she expected. Finally, "A partial retrieval may be feasible. However, mass conversion efficiency will be suboptimal."

  "Still better than nothing," Erica pointed out. "And it means we won’t be leaving empty-handed."

  Another measured pause. Then:

  "Acknowledged. Adjusting salvage protocols."

  The ship hummed beneath her, vibrations shifting subtly as the Steward adjusted their position, maneuvering closer to the debris field. Erica could feel the shift in gravity as the ship realigned itself, drawing within range to begin salvage operations.

  She flexed her fingers, still tingling slightly from the lingering effects of the nanites. She pushed off from the bottom of the restoration pool, rising effortlessly through the thick fluid. As she reached the surface, her bodysuit clung to her skin, adapting as it shed the excess liquid. Pulling herself onto the edge, she sat for a moment, coughing sharply as her lungs expelled the last traces of the restoration fluid. The sensation was strange but not painful, more like clearing water from her throat after a deep dive. When the spasms subsided, she exhaled, steadied herself, and got to her feet before making her way toward the airlock.

  By the time she arrived, the freighter’s remains were being carefully maneuvered into the hold. The Steward had surgically cut away the unnecessary bulk—the skeletal cargo frame, shattered bulkheads, and compromised hull plating—leaving only the living quarters and the bridge intact. His ship’s external manipulators worked with eerie precision, severing sections cleanly before pulling them inside.

  Mass conversion systems hummed, breaking down unusable debris while reinforcing the salvaged structure to maintain integrity during transport. Sparks flared as robotic arms welded stabilizing braces into place, preventing the fractured ship from collapsing further under its own damage.

  The final piece—the bridge—floated toward the hold, guided in by unseen forces.

  Just before she entered the Hold two prompts appeared in front of her vision.

  "Structural integrity stabilized. Atmosphere contained in three of the remaining sections. Others remain compromised. Caution is advised."

  "Noted," Erica muttered, stepping forward.

  The Steward’s corridor. "Please use caution when maneuvering through the remains of the ship. I have lowered the gravity with in the hold to improve maneuverability If you need any assistance please let me know I will be going going through the data pulled from the Dunerunners computers."

  Erica pause once more looking up at the ceiling. "Dunerunner?"

  Apparently that was the name of the freighter."

  "Ahh. Well lets see what kind of beings lived in this Dunerunner then"

  A wide door slid open in the wall, revealing the vast interior of the hold. The space was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from flickering emergency lights mounted along the walls and the faint glow of the ship’s automated systems. Shadows stretched long and uneven across the fractured remains of the , its salvaged sections secured within the hold like pieces of a long-forgotten relic.

  The air was thick with the scent of metal, dust, and something stale—like a place left abandoned for too long. The reduced gravity made debris float lazily before settling back down, the atmosphere eerily still. Jagged edges of torn hull plating jutted from where the Steward had cut away unnecessary sections, leaving exposed beams and half-collapsed corridors frozen in their final moments of destruction.

  Erica stepped forward, her soft padded feet making only the faintest sound against the deck plating. The remains of the living quarters and bridge were nestled in the center, stabilizing braces holding the weakened structures together. Loose wires hung like lifeless vines from torn panels, some sparking faintly before dying out.

  The ship groaned, metal shifting under its own weight, as if protesting its new resting place.

  Erica grinned as she felt the effects of the reduced gravity, pushing off the floor lightly and watching as her movement carried her farther than expected. For a brief moment, she let herself drift, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness before carefully landing back on the deck. A small piece of debris floated past her, lazily tumbling before settling again. It was like being on the moon—except this time, she wasn’t bound by a bulky spacesuit or Earth’s lingering pull. The novelty of it made her chuckle softly before she refocused on the task at hand.

  She did a few more test hops to get her bearings before spotting a good entry point on the remains of the freighters hull that wouldn't cut her into ribbons if she calculated wrong. She bent her knees and launched herself into the air. She reached out and grabbed a piece of curled metal and pulled herself up onto the edge of a hold that looked like a chunk of the hull hand been ripped off or blown out. she poked her head inside and squinted into the darkness.

  "Can I get a lamp or something to give me some light?"

  The Steward didn't answer instead a soft mechanical hum filled the air, and a moment later, a small, floating construct emerged from the darkness. It moved with an unnatural smoothness, its sleek, spherical core surrounded by delicate, jointed appendages that flickered in and out of its chassis like mechanical tendrils.

  As it hovered closer, a soft bioluminescent glow pulsed from within, not a harsh artificial beam, but something more organic—almost like a deep-sea creature producing its own light. The glow rippled across its smooth exterior, subtly shifting between warm amber and cold blue, adapting to the surrounding shadows.

  Erica watched as one of its appendages extended, unfurling like the petals of a mechanical flower, revealing a multi-directional light source that bloomed outward, flooding the area in a stark, focused glow. The light didn’t cast normal shadows—instead, it made them seem almost liquid, shifting subtly as the drone adjusted its positioning.

  It didn’t make a sound beyond its faint hum, hovering near her shoulder like a watchful companion. Erica raised an eyebrow

  “Well, that’s… different,” she muttered. "Thanks Steward"

  The weird jellyfish-like drone floated in front of her as she ducked into the hole. The air inside was metallic but breathable, and as the lamp drone’s bioluminescent glow pulsed outward, it revealed the remnants of what had once been a home among the stars.

  The walls were adorned with murals and intricate carvings, each telling a fragment of a story. Despite the damage, she could make out scenes of desert landscapes, twin moons rising over rolling dunes, and a great caravan of ships and creatures traversing an endless expanse of sand. Some of the murals had been scorched by weapons fire, deep gashes marring their surfaces, while others remained untouched, silent testaments to the lives once lived here.

  Tattered banners bearing flowing, calligraphic script hung from the walls, some torn and swaying slightly in the low gravity. The symbols were unfamiliar, yet they carried a certain elegance—more art than simple text. Amid the wreckage, delicate woven tapestries still clung to the corners of the ceiling, their intricate patterns depicting what looked like constellations or family crests.

  Erica’s fingers brushed against a panel on the wall, its surface worn smooth from years of touch. The place felt lived in, cherished, and the realization hit her with a strange, unexpected weight.

  Yet now, it was just another tomb drifting in the void.

  She moved carefully, stepping over debris and glancing through the shattered remains of rooms. Some doors were warped and sealed shut, while others had been forced open in the chaos of the attack. A broken monitor flickered weakly, half of its display frozen on what looked like a maintenance log. She tapped the controls, but it was too damaged to extract anything useful.

  "This place must've had a story," she murmured, moving toward what looked like the crew quarters. She pushed open a partially collapsed door, revealing a small room with two bunks and storage lockers—one of which hung open, its contents strewn across the floor.

  Meanwhile, the Steward sifted through the pirate wreckage. His drones worked efficiently, scanning each shattered vessel, cataloging materials and data fragments. Most of what remained was damaged beyond repair—fried circuitry, shattered hull plating, spent energy cells. Inferior materials, unworthy of integration.

  Yet, buried among the wreckage, he detected something more.

  “Erica.” His voice cut through the silence, making her pause mid-step. “I have uncovered data fragments from both the freighter and the pirate vessels.”

  Erica turned, brows lifting. "Yeah? Anything useful?"

  A brief pause. “Uncertain. Preliminary analysis suggests conflicting information. The freighter was not merely a merchant vessel—it was carrying encrypted cargo logs. Some of the remaining pirate data references a transaction involving an unidentified third party.”

  Erica frowned. "So, what? This was more than just a random attack?"

  “Affirmative. The probability of targeted engagement is high.”

  Her grip tightened on the rusted frame of the bunk. Something about this didn’t add up. The freighter had been carrying something valuable—valuable enough to be ambushed. But the way the attack had played out… it felt too precise. Too targeted.

  Maybe it was just paranoia. Or maybe someone had sold them out.

  She shook her head apparently greed was everywhere even out among the stars.

  She stepped carefully over the scattered debris, her gaze tracing the remnants of the room. Clothes, a few personal effects, a small, overturned container with what looked like trinkets or keepsakes. Most had been tossed about in the chaos of the attack, but some items remained untouched, wedged into crevices or locked inside compartments.

  As she moved further down the corridor, her light flickered over something unusual—an imposing, reinforced door set into the bulkhead. Unlike the others, this one bore no signs of forced entry, though deep scratches and scorch marks lined the frame, evidence that someone had once tried to break through.

  Erica frowned, stepping closer. The vault stood untouched, silent, as if waiting. A part of her hesitated—was this just another broken piece of a lost story, or was there something left behind? Something meant to be hidden?

  "Now, what do we have here?"

  She ran a hand along the surface, her fingers brushing over what felt like an access panel. It was dark, unpowered, but sturdy. Whoever had built this had wanted to keep something inside.

  Or keep someone out.

  She knelt, inspecting the marks around the edges. The scorch marks near the edges weren’t from standard plasma rifles. Someone had tried cutting through with a high-powered torch—and failed. She traced the deep claw-like scratches along the surface, wondering just how desperate they had been to get inside.

  Whatever was in there, the pirates had wanted it badly.

  They had failed.

  "Steward," she called out, eyes still fixed on the door. "Got any bright ideas for getting this thing open?"

  A brief pause. Then, "Analyzing."

  The ship hummed in the back of her mind as Steward processed the vault’s structure. Erica traced her fingers along the door’s edge. The locking mechanism was intact—completely untouched by the pirates' failed attempts. Whatever security this ship had, it had done its job well.

  "The vault's material composition includes reinforced alloys resistant to standard breach methods. Manual access is unlikely to succeed."

  Erica sighed, stepping back. Yeah, figured that much. So, what do we do?

  "Stand by."

  A sharp vibration rumbled through the floor, a resonance so deep she felt it in her bones rather than heard it. The door groaned as something within shifted. The once-dead console beside it flickered, dim lights struggling against centuries of decay. The metal beneath her fingers warmed, energy surging through the locking mechanism as if someone had breathed life back into a long-dormant system.

  "I have activated residual emergency power within the vault’s control node. The locks will disengage momentarily."

  A heavy clunk echoed through the corridor. A hiss of decompressed air followed as the thick door shuddered, its reinforced frame releasing inch by inch. Erica took a step back as the vault’s entrance creaked open, revealing an almost pitch-black interior.

  The lamp drone drifted inside first, its eerie glow casting elongated shadows against the walls. Erica followed cautiously, boots making soft thuds against the floor. The air inside was stale, untouched for an indeterminate amount of time. The chamber was large, but with everything that was packed inside the space felt small. What immediately caught her attention was the small, curled figure in the corner.

  Erica’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, hell—

  She was looking at a small alien creature dressed in an almost pristine white jump suit.

  the tiny fox like being was curled up in a protective ball, her small frame wrapped in what looked like a thermal emergency blanket. Her fur, golden but dulled with exhaustion, barely rose and fell with each breath.

  Erica was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside the still form and carefully brushing a few strands of white-blond hair from their face. The aliens ears flicked faintly at the touch but gave no other response.

  "Steward, Their alive," Erica said, her voice lower now, more urgent. "Barely. We need to get her out of here."

  "Analyzing vital signs."

  A moment passed, then: "Severe dehydration. Oxygen deprivation at critical levels before recovery. Organ function stable but weakened. Immediate medical attention is recommended."

  Erica didn’t wait. She carefully lifted the girl into her arms, surprised at how light she was. The child barely stirred, her small hands twitching but not grasping onto anything.

  "We're getting you out of here, little one," Erica murmured, more to herself than anything. "You're safe now."