Her fur bristled as she took another step forward, her sharp eyes sweeping over the corridor on the other side of the airlock. This was a ship of considerable size, yet she saw no signs of a crew—no movement, no chatter, not even the telltale hum of a functioning command system. It should have taken hundreds, if not thousands, of crew members to operate a vessel like this, yet there was nothing. Just silence and decay.
The corridor stretched ahead, its metal walls marred with scorch marks and gashes where structural supports had buckled. Stray wires dangled from torn ceiling panels, sparking intermittently in the oppressive darkness. The faint scent of burnt insulation and stale air clung to the ship’s interior, adding to the eerie sense of abandonment. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned under unseen pressure, the ship’s very bones shifting in protest of its injuries.
She had heard stories—old legends about ghost ships adrift in the void, vessels lost to time, their crews vanished without a trace. But this… this wasn't a legend. This was real.
Then, as soon as her foot crossed over the edge of the airlock into the ship, a faint glow flickered at her feet. The deck felt colder here, the temperature dropping ever so slightly, as though the ship's internal life-support had a hard time stabilizing the environment.
Glancing down, the former captain noticed a single blinking light pulsing at the edge of the deck and along the bulkhead to her right, leading deeper into the gloom. The glow was faint, flickering as if struggling to maintain power, yet it formed a silent, deliberate path guiding her farther into the ship.
Velia took a deep breath and called out. "Hello? Is anyone there?" A heavy silence was her only reply.
Velia exhaled slowly, steadying herself. "Alright… let’s see what you want me to find." She took her first cautious step forward, following the eerie trail.
The air felt heavier the farther she stepped, thick with the scent of metal, dust, and age. Every sound echoed just a little too loudly, only to be swallowed almost instantly by the stillness around her, as though the ship itself was listening. Faint mechanical hisses and an occasional spark off in the distance reminded her that the vessel was on the edge of failing, every system one misfire away from shutting down.
The lights continued to guide her deeper into the ship, their glow pulsing softly in the dim corridor, illuminating more damage and signs of wear along the walls. Was this supposed to be their rescue? It looked more likely to leave them stranded in space with little atmosphere than something to take them to safety.
The unnatural stillness pressed in around her, a silence too deliberate to ignore.
Then, without warning, the lights led her to what appeared to be a blank section of the wall. She hesitated, ears twitching, scanning her surroundings. There was no visible door, no markings—just a smooth, seamless section of the bulkhead.
As soon as she stepped in front of it, a soft hiss cut through the silence. A seam split the wall apart, revealing a small, cylindrical chamber within. The space was just large enough for a single occupant, its interior lined with faintly glowing strips of light. It looked like some kind of transport pod—or an airlock.
Velia narrowed her eyes, her hand reaching for the blaster on her belt—only to remember she had left it on the shuttle. "What now?" she muttered under her breath, staring into the waiting chamber.
The doors remained open, the pulsing line of lights directing her forward, urging her inside. It was deliberate—there was no mistaking that. Whatever intelligence controlled this ship, it wanted her to step in. The air inside the chamber was as still as it had been in the corridor, the faint glow of the interior panels flickering in an almost rhythmic pattern, like a slow and steady heartbeat.
Her claws flexed against the floor. Instinct screamed at her once more to turn back, to call for her crew—but she swallowed the hesitation, steeled herself, and stepped forward.
The moment both feet touched the platform, the door behind her hissed shut, sealing her inside. Her ears folded back at the sound, and she spun around, testing the door. It remained firmly closed, no visible mechanism to reopen it from her side.
A panel on the curved wall flickered to life, illuminating with a list of destinations:
- Main Bridge
- Crew Quarters
- Observation
- Medical
- Core
- Engineering
- Docking
- Cargo Deck
The option labeled Medical pulsed with a faint glow, and before Velia could react, the lift moved—swiftly, smoothly, and almost entirely too fast. The sensation was unsettling, a momentary shift in gravity before stabilizing again.
As she recovered from the sudden motion, her gaze snagged on the list of destinations again. A fleeting thought prickled at the back of her mind—how was she able to read this so clearly? The text looked oddly familiar, as though it were in her native tongue or a universal script. Is the ship reading my mind? Studying my records? The idea made her ears flick back in alarm.
The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a dark corridor in a similar state of disrepair as the one before. The smell of ozone and burnt metal hung in the air, underscoring that the systems here were in no better shape. She paused for half a heartbeat, listening to the distant, echoing creaks of a vessel struggling to remain functional.
The pulsing line guided her out of the lift and into the corridor. She poked her head out and looked to where the pulsing line was leading her. Just like before, it trailed along the deck until it came to a stop in front of another section of wall. Velia’s pulse quickened. Another hidden path, she thought, ears twitching nervously. This again—another door, another risk.
She stepped closer, bracing herself for whatever lay beyond. The wall hissed open, revealing an almost sterile white room filled with strange, unfamiliar medical equipment. The transition was abrupt—the corridor’s darkness gave way to bright, clinical light.
Inside, the air carried a faint antiseptic scent, and the soft hum of machinery was the first real sound she had heard since stepping aboard. Several beds lined the walls, each with sleek monitoring devices attached, their displays showing alien symbols and fluctuating readouts.
Velia’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked onto one of the beds near the center of the room. Chika.
Her youngest daughter lay motionless beneath a thin, silver-lined blanket, her small form barely stirring. Suspended above her, a smooth black orb floated silently, its surface shifting subtly, as if reacting to Velia’s presence. The device emitted no visible light, no sign of function, yet something about it felt aware.
Velia took a step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. "Chika..." she whispered.
The black orb hovering over the child turned toward her, its surface rippling like liquid metal before stabilizing. A shutter-like mechanism flicked down, then up, revealing a glowing blue ring-like iris at its center. For a brief moment, it seemed to scan her.
Then, a voice—smooth, measured, and entirely unlike anything Velia had expected—broke the silence.
"Captain Velia Tal'Rayan," it greeted, the tone eerily calm and deliberate. "Welcome aboard."
Velia froze, her fur bristling. Every instinct screamed danger, unknown, threat, but her rational mind fought to keep her in control. It knew her name. How?
Her gaze darted between the floating orb and her unconscious daughter, the tension in her muscles coiled tight. "Who—what are you?" Her voice came out sharp, demanding, though her throat was tight with uncertainty.
The iris pulsed once, as if considering. "I am the Artificial Ship Steward. Your child is stable and receiving medical treatment."
Velia’s stomach clenched. Chika was breathing, her small chest rising and falling beneath the blanket. There were no obvious injuries that she could see. Relief surged through her, momentarily overriding her suspicion. As she stepped closer to the bed, she noted a clear barrier sliding away the former captain could feel the warm humid air wafting out. Her fingers hovering near her daughter’s hand before gripping it gently.
"Chika…" she whispered again, ears flicking back before snapping toward the orb. "How did you find her? How do I know she’s safe?"
"She was discovered within a sealed compartment aboard the wreckage of the Dunerunner. Her vitals were critical upon retrieval, but my medical systems have stabilized her condition. I have no intention of harming her."
Velia’s sharp eyes narrowed, scanning the floating orb. It wasn’t just analyzing her—it was studying her reactions. Her tail twitched as her grip on Chika’s hand tightened.
Velia straightened, eyes sharp despite the tremor she fought to suppress. "You appear unannounced, broadcasting distress signals centuries out of date, cloaking yourself from scans, and now my daughter is aboard your ship." Her voice hardened, the commanding presence of an experienced captain clashing with the fear she couldn't quite hide. "If your intentions are peaceful, explain yourself—why all the secrecy?"
Steward was silent for a moment before answering. "I have no active stealth protocols running, nor have I engaged any since detecting your distress beacon. My communications are currently offline, preventing direct responses to your hails. First contact carries inherent risks; I merely proceeded cautiously. Given the circumstances, my caution seems justified."
Velia exhaled sharply. This thing spoke too cleanly, too precisely—but there was something unsettlingly detached about it, as though it recognized the weight of this moment without actually feeling it.
She took another slow breath. "What happens now?" she asked, quieter but still firm.
The orb hovered slightly closer, its iris shifting. "That depends on you. My Avatar discovered your child aboard the wreckage of the Dunerunner. Recognizing your distress signal, I retrieved her before the ship's critical failure."
Velia's ears flicked back sharply. Her stomach tightened with realization. "You were the one they were fighting." It wasn't a question, merely an acknowledgment of the truth she saw unfolding. Her eyes drifted to Chika, then back to the floating orb. "And the shuttle?"
"It departed for the planet’s surface before the conflict ended," Steward confirmed. "I followed your distress signal and located your crew. I offer you all safe passage aboard this vessel, along with medical aid and transit to safety. Or you may remain here, though the approaching storm makes survival improbable."
Velia knew exactly where they were—stranded at the edge of known space, their chances of another rescue minimal. Even if someone received their signal, help could be days or weeks away. Time was something they did not have.
"You expect me to just walk my people onto an unknown ship?" Her skepticism was palpable.
Steward’s iris pulsed slowly. "I expect you to carefully consider your options. Your shuttle is compromised, and conditions will soon become fatal. Remain if you wish, but understand that your survival is far from guaranteed."
Velia’s tail flicked as she processed the stark logic. Her claws tightened involuntarily against Chika’s blanket.
"I am not asking for your trust, Captain Tal'Rayan," Steward continued calmly. "Trust is irrelevant to your immediate reality. I am offering shelter, medical support, and safe passage. Your acceptance of my offer is a matter of necessity, not belief."
Velia resented the cold precision of his reasoning, hated the truth of it. He wasn't pleading or offering empty assurances. He simply presented facts—facts she could not deny.
"And if I refuse?" she asked tightly.
"Then you remain here," Steward replied without hesitation. "I will depart. My directive is to protect my Avatar, not to impose assistance upon unwilling passengers."
Her ears twitched at the unfamiliar term—Avatar—but that was a question for another moment.
Her gaze softened as she looked again at Chika, who slept peacefully beneath the sterile lights. The child had been on the brink of death when Steward found her; now she lay safe and stable. This alone spoke louder than any argument.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, hating how neatly she'd been cornered.
After a tense silence, her shoulders finally drooped, and she exhaled sharply, fixing the orb with a steely glare. "Fine. I'll retrieve my crew."
"A wise decision, Captain," Steward replied evenly.
She resisted the urge to snarl at him, biting back her frustration.
...
Outside the ship the storm was closing in, the winds outside the battered shuttle howling louder as sheets of dust and debris lashed against the hull. Inside, the tension had grown unbearable.
Dr. Teklen paced near the ramp, his ears flicking, his tail bristling with agitation. His eyes darted toward the entrance every few seconds, his claws flexing at his sides. Velia had been gone for nearly five minutes. Too long.
Liora, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "She said five minutes. Give her time."
Teklen exhaled sharply, his patience fraying. "She should have checked in by now. This isn’t like her."
Zireal, standing near the sensor panel, glanced at the readings again. The massive vessel above them had remained motionless, no signs of aggression, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a danger. His own instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. "If we don’t hear from her in the next thirty seconds, we’re going after her."
Teklen let out a growl of frustration. "No. We go now. I’m not waiting while my wife walks into the unknown alone."
Before he could make a move, Liora and Zireal stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Liora placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Dad, think. If that ship wanted to hurt her, we’d already know."
Teklen’s ears flattened, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. "I am thinking. I’m thinking that I will not stand here doing nothing while Velia is up there alone!"
Outside, the winds screamed through the canyon, the storm’s leading edge nearly upon them. The urgency of the situation pressed down on all of them, but there was no clear answer—only the waiting, only the gnawing uncertainty.
And then… the shuttle’s comms crackled to life.
"Teklen. I’m alright. Stand down."
Teklen’s head snapped toward the sound of his wife’s voice that came over the shuttles com. Before flicking to the ramp leading up into the ship. his tail swished behind him as relief and frustration warred across his face. The others turned toward the communications panel, waiting for further instructions.
But Teklen barely registered the transmission—his gaze had locked onto the top of the shuttle ramp.
Velia stood there, winds whipping at her cloak, her stance strong despite the storm’s growing intensity. She was alive.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The winds shrieked around them, howling a stark reminder that time was short. Velia raised a hand, beckoning urgently.
“It’s safe enough,” she shouted over the din, voice nearly lost in the rising gale. “Chika’s alive—this… Steward… is taking us aboard. Hurry!”
Teklen’s throat tightened, torn between relief and caution. He shot a questioning glance at Liora and Zireal; their grim expressions mirrored his own. But the storm was closing in, and there was no time for a lengthy debate.
Then, after a brief hesitation, the tension shattered. Teklen was the first to surge forward, striding toward the ship. The others exchanged uncertain glances before following, some slower than others. Even Zireal and Liora, despite their earlier caution, wasted no time in ushering the remaining crew toward the open ramp.
As the first gusts of the encroaching storm roared through the canyon, Steward reacted. The moment the last Fennecari set foot inside, the ramp lifted and the airlock closed, sealing them inside with a firm hiss.
Once the airlock cycled shut, cutting off the howling winds just as the storm’s first true force slammed against the ship’s exterior. as it began to lift up off the ground.
The entire vessel trembled, buffeted by the violent turbulence. Overhead lights flickered as the ship’s stabilizers adjusted to the pressure.
Then, from seemingly nowhere, Steward’s voice resonated through the chamber. "Brace yourselves. The atmospheric turbulence may be severe."
The moment his words echoed through the air, fear rippled among the crew. Their apprehension only grew as they clutched at handholds and each other, surrounded by the stark reminder that they were aboard a vessel they barely understood. Were the systems about to fail? Would the plummet back to the planet’s surface? Could this ship withstand the storm?
No sooner had Steward spoken than the ship lifted, engines roaring as it fought against the storm’s grip. The banshee wail of the wind turned into a shrieking cacophony, each gust slamming against the hull. The metal beneath their feet vibrated with every impact, an unsettling reminder of the storm’s unchecked power." A deep shudder rocked through the corridors, and Teklen wrapped a protective arm around Liora as she stumbled. Zireal’s eyes darted nervously across the corridor, his claws digging into the railing with white-knuckled tension.
Alarms beeped in protest as stabilizers worked overtime to counter the brutal gusts. Each jolt set hearts pounding; every rattle of the hull was a stark reminder that they’d boarded what was, for all appearances, a derelict ghost ship. Some crew members squeezed their eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Others exchanged glances of shared dread, their ears flattened or tails coiled tight.
Despite the chaos, the engines surged again, pushing them through the swirling maelstrom. The air inside the ship felt charged, as though the vessel itself was straining to protect its new passengers. Lights flickered overhead, dimming for a few heartbeats as if the ship struggled to maintain power. An unspoken question lingered on everyone’s minds—would they make it out in one piece?
Finally, the shaking and trembling stopped as the ship broke free of the worst of the storm, engines stabilizing as it punched through the upper atmosphere. The winds’ furious grip weakened, and a heavy stillness fell over the interior. With a final flicker, the lights stabilized, returning to a steady glow.
And then—silence. The storm was behind them, left to rage far below on the planet’s surface, and the battered crew drew in shaky breaths, relieved that they had survived the tumult.
Through a nearby viewing panel, the dull red of the planet’s surface shrunk away, replaced by the vast emptiness of space.
Teklen, still gripping the nearest support railing, exhaled heavily before turning toward Velia, his expression fierce. "Take me to her."
Liora and Zireal, standing just behind him, nodded in agreement. The younger children, who had huddled together during the ascent, perked up at his words.
Steward’s voice returned, unhurried yet firm. "Follow the illuminated path. The medical bay awaits you."
The family made their way through the sterile corridors, as the rest of the crew watched as the glowing path appeared alongside the deck and bulkhead of the corridor, guiding them deeper into the vessel.
As they stepped into the medbay, Dr. Teklen instinctively slowed, his sharp gaze sweeping across the unfamiliar medical equipment.
The sheer complexity of it left him momentarily speechless—devices of alien design, blinking readouts displaying symbols he didn’t recognize. Some of it seemed vaguely medical in function, but much of it? He had no idea.
But all thoughts of machinery vanished the moment he laid eyes on his youngest daughter.
"Chika…"
Teklen crossed the room in several quick strides, reaching her bedside before anyone else. The rest of the family followed, gathering around the biobed in a protective cluster. Velia rested a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder as Aelar climbed up beside his sister, clinging to her, his small frame trembling.
Chika stirred, her ears twitching as she blinked blearily up at the soft lights above. Her amber eyes focused slowly, taking in the familiar faces around her. Her mother. Her father. Her mother elder brothers and sister, even uncle Jekar. And Aelar—his face streaked with tears, pressed tightly against her side.
"Mama?" she murmured, voice weak but steady.
Velia exhaled a shaky breath, her grip tightening on Teklen’s shoulder. "We’re here, little star," she whispered. "We’re all here."
As the family took a moment to gather themselves, a familiar voice broke the quiet.
"Now that introductions have concluded," Steward’s smooth, measured tone filled the room, "I suggest we proceed with getting everyone settled. A tour of the ship will be provided, beginning with the crew quarters. This will allow you to rest and orient yourselves."
Teklen, still kneeling beside Chika, barely spared the floating orb a glance. "You all go ahead." He murmured, eyes locked on his daughter. "This place… makes me feel like I’m back in med school again. I want to take a closer look at this equipment and ensure Chika is fully stable."
Velia nodded, understanding his need to verify her safety with his own hands. "We won’t be long."
Steward’s iris pulsed. "Understood. The illuminated path will guide you."
As the family departed from the Medbay, a smaller orb compared to that of the one in the medbay dropped down from the ceiling.
"Attention. I am detecting fluctuations within the subspace around this system. Multiple signatures suggest possible incoming jumps. The probability of additional vessels entering this sector is increasing."
Velia’s ears flicked reflexively, and she exchanged a knowing glance with Zireal. "Friend or foe?"
"Unknown. Subspace anomalies prevent precise identification at this range. I will continue to monitor and provide updates."
For a brief moment, the group stood in silent apprehension..
Velia’s eyes swept over her gathered family—Zireal, Liora, Joean, and Jekar—and she spoke, her tone firm but laced with uncertainty. “We can’t assume the danger has passed. Those subspace distortions may suggest the pirates might be coming back. We need to decide on our next course of action—quickly.”
Steward’s voice then chimed in, smooth and measured through the caretaker orb.
"Based on current sensor data, I recommend altering our trajectory toward a system with a reduced likelihood of pirate activity."
Liora’s ears twitched as she interjected, “What about the pick up we have scheduled at The HUB?.”
A murmur of discontent spread among the group until Joean cut in, his voice edged with frustration. “The HUB was for our cargo run, right? But we no longer have a functional ship to pick up or haul that shipment.”
Zireal spoke up “We could at least Cancel the pick up and let the security forces know we were attacked by pirates.
Steward’s tone remained unruffled as he sought clarification, “Requesting additional data: please define the HUB in terms of operational parameters.”
Velia stepped forward, her gaze steady despite the uncertainty. “The HUB is the biggest space station in Council space. It’s not just a pickup point—it’s a massive hub of trade and communications. But without a ship to transport goods, it no longer serves our immediate purpose.”
In the quiet solitude of her quarters Erica sat forward, her hand clasped between her knees and her eyes unfocused as she watched the scene through the Caretaker orbs lens. Mentally she opened a discreet channel to Steward. The caretaker orb’s smooth, unemotional voice responded almost immediately.
"Avatar?" Steward began, his tone measured and precise, "How may I assist you?"
Erica’s eyebrow twitched “Cut it with the Avatar bit will you? You know my name.” She closed her eyes and sighed before softening her voice." I’ve been considering our options. Disguising ourselves as a merchant vessel might allow us to secure the resources needed for repairs. It would also give these people time to get a new ship. Instead of us just dumping them on some random space station."
There was a brief pause as Steward processed the suggestion, his sensors calculating every variable. "A Merchant vessel disguise," he finally replied, "would indeed facilitate access to essential resources, provided that our operational profile aligns with that of a recognized merchant. I must note, however, that such a reconfiguration necessitates a recalibration of our external communications and a temporary suspension of our current stealth measures."
Erica continued. "I believe this approach could be our best and fastest chance to get the resources needed to start your repairs, while avoiding further unwanted interference. With the HUB being the largest space station in this Council space, we could blend in among legitimate traders and other ships."
Steward’s orb pulsed rhythmically. "Understood. I will bring your suggestion to the fennecari and compute the operational viability of adopting a merchant profile. Await further directives on this proposal."
Steward’s attention refocused on the former captain. "In light of our current threat assessment, I propose an alternative course: altering our operational profile to match that of a merchant vessel. It would allow you to continue your operations until you acquire a new ship."
A tense silence fell over the group, broken only by a murmur of cautious interest. Velia’s gaze narrowed in thoughtful concern, but before she could speak, Liora interjected sharply, "The HUB is heavily guarded—Council security won’t let an unidentified vessel dock without proper credentials."
"Indeed, HUB security protocols are rigorous," Steward acknowledged calmly. "However, historical records suggest a merchant disguise has a high probability of success."
Velia exchanged meaningful looks with her officers. The idea, though promising, was not without risks. Even if they reached the HUB, would Council authorities question their presence? Would their attackers still be out there, waiting? And if they docked, how long could they remain before drawing attention?
She ground her teeth, tail flicking behind her as she weighed the options. The ship needed resources. Steward, whatever he truly was, needed repairs. And her people—her family—needed time to recover. Stranded in deep space with no supply chain, they wouldn’t last long. The HUB carried risks, but it also offered opportunity.
Despite the dangers, it was their best lifeline.
She took a steadying breath, then nodded. “We'll make for the HUB.”
The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but no one challenged her. They all knew it was their clearest path forward.
The crew gathered anxiously around the viewports lining the bridge, their reflections stark against the transparent panels. The distant glow of the storm-wracked planet below shrank steadily away, fading into an ominous orb shrouded in clouds and swirling dust.
Steward's calm voice resonated through the chamber, slicing through the tense silence. "Navigational calculations complete. Preparing to engage main drive systems. All passengers, brace for transition."
The ambient lights dimmed slightly as energy hummed through the decks beneath their feet. Velia steadied herself against a railing, her ears flicking as she fought to keep her posture firm. She cast a glance toward the medbay’s display feed, where Teklen remained beside Chika, monitoring her condition with a mixture of tension and relief.
Through the viewport, the darkness of space seemed to ripple faintly—a shimmer of distorted starlight bending and shifting, marking the ship's readiness to jump.
"Transitioning in three… two… one."
A brief surge of force pressed against their bodies, subtle yet unmistakable, like a deep breath held and released. For an instant, the stars stretched and blurred into elongated streaks of light, brilliant threads racing past them.
Then, just as abruptly, the visual chaos settled. A new view filled the viewport—vast, tranquil, and silent. Familiar constellations were replaced by alien patterns, brilliant nebulae, and distant star clusters glowing softly in vibrant hues of blues, purples, and greens.
For several long moments, no one spoke, the only sound the soft thrum of the ship’s engines returning to normal. The tension in the bridge slowly eased as each crew member realized they had safely left the immediate threat far behind.
Velia exhaled quietly, the tension easing from her shoulders as she met Teklen’s relieved gaze. Steward’s voice returned, its even tone unaltered by the journey.
"We have successfully exited the system. Current trajectory will place us in proximity to the HUB within thirty-six standard hours. No further anomalies detected."
Zireal exchanged a cautious nod with Liora, their earlier doubts replaced by wary hope.