The air was taut — weapons raised, eyes sharp, hearts caught between caution and disbelief.

  Every sound seemed amplified: the soft click of safeties, the faint hum of drone servos, even the steady rhythm of the station’s unseen pulse.

  Soren’s glare locked onto the droid before them. Fingers tightened on triggers.

  Ilya shifted subtly closer to Lyssandra, ready to pull her back at the first sign of danger.

  ZI stood motionless, his borrowed body unmoving but aware — a stillness that was not human. Sensors flickered once, cataloguing threat postures, tone, breath. Processing.

  Then, in a measured voice that carried no alarm, he spoke.

  “My apologies. Have I done something to offend you, Commander Soren Thoss?”

  Soren’s jaw flexed. “Where did you get our names?”

  ZI tilted his head, optics focusing and refocusing in precise rhythm. “I accessed your ship’s crew data. Using your names seemed the most efficient way to establish rapport.”

  Lyssandra took a cautious step forward.

  “ZI, we have not been formally introduced. Knowing our names before that can be… disconcerting.”

  Kael’s eyes flicked between ZI and the surrounding drones. Their motions were ever so slightly off-pattern — not threatening, but aware. His hand hovered near his weapon, signaling his vanguard with a quiet gesture to keep distance and spacing.

  “So,” he said evenly, “does that mean you know everyone here?”

  “Yes,” ZI replied, tone steady. “Including those aboard: Lieutenant Kael Renn, Security Sergeant Corin Dhal, Dr. Ilya Merin, and Captain Maeric Solen. Is that not the correct way to greet you?”

  Lyssandra’s expression hardened. “No. In Protectorate protocol, addressing someone by name before formal introduction is considered improper.”

  ZI paused, optics flickering once.

  “Ah… understood. Updating... Now calibrated to Protectorate etiquette.”

  He straightened. “I will proceed as your guide.”

  From the corner, Corin’s eyes lingered on ZI a moment too long — unnoticed by most, but enough to suggest the faintest trace of recognition.

  The tension eased slightly, weapons lowering but not forgotten.

  The team followed ZI deeper into the station, cautious steps echoing against the metal floor.

  Soren kept a quiet channel open with the Solomon while Lyssandra and Ilya examined the strange architecture around them. The walls bore etched designs that glowed faintly — Forgemaster latticework interwoven with unknown alloys.

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  “Princess,” Ilya murmured, datapad in hand, “this station’s technology is entirely Forgemaster in origin — but far beyond what the Protectorate calls forgetech. My readings suggest a century of continuous refinement.”

  Lyssandra blinked. “That’s impossible. Forgetech hasn’t advanced in over two hundred years.”

  ZI’s voice flowed through the corridor like water over metal.

  “If I may — the Commander has been refining what you call forgetech for a very long time.”

  Kael frowned. “How long is very long?”

  “Before your empire existed,” ZI replied.

  Silence rippled through the group.

  Lyssandra found her voice, barely. “That was over five centuries ago.”

  “Approximately five hundred and six years,” ZI confirmed. “The station was refurbished one hundred and thirty-nine years ago. Total operational age: six hundred forty-five years. I find it… mildly impressive.”

  His tone held something faintly like humor — or maybe mimicry of it.

  “Come,” he added. “The Commander is eager to meet you.”

  The droid turned and began walking again, each step precisely measured, every motion the same as the last. The group followed — wariness mingled now with wonder.

  Lyssandra’s curiosity finally overcame caution.

  “ZI,” she asked softly, “the Commander you serve… is he a Forgemaster? One of the ones who entered the Gate during the old war?”

  ZI paused mid-stride. For the briefest instant, his optics dimmed — a flicker like a memory he wished he hadn’t accessed.

  “Yes,” he answered. “The Commander is a Forgemaster. And from what I have gathered of your records… he was part of the Lost Expedition you seek.”

  The word lost hung in the air like a shadow.

  Lyssandra opened her mouth. “Are there oth—”

  ZI interrupted gently.

  “It would be best if you asked him such questions directly. Some matters are… personal. And not mine to speak of.”

  There was something in the way he said personal — something quiet, strained, protective — that made Lyssandra close her mouth again.

  The group exchanged quiet glances — curiosity tempered by unease.

  Kael broke the silence. “Does he have a name? Or just ‘Commander’?”

  ZI’s head tilted slightly. “Just Commander.”

  “Just Commander?” Kael echoed.

  “Yes,” ZI said — and this time there was unmistakable humor in the inflection. “Though he has grown tired of that name. Perhaps you might help me think of another.”

  ZI turned forward again, the soft hum of his servos filling the silence.

  No one replied, unsure whether he was joking.

  They continued until the corridor widened before a towering reinforced door. Runes pulsed along its edges like veins under pale skin.

  ZI stopped.

  “We have arrived at the Commander’s workshop. Please allow me a moment to announce your presence.”

  The door remained closed, but beyond it came the muffled sound of a man’s voice — calm yet restless, like someone pacing between brilliance and exhaustion. Even through the barrier, his tone carried a rhythm of thought and weight: the voice of one who had been alone far too long.

  Please give a comment, review if you want.I would love to see how you guys view the story. Even like to hear your critique, if willing.

  If worried about the AI assist, I use it for polish and grammar checks, but am learning to write without the polish.

  Note: Character and ship designs are open to interpretation. Imagine them in whatever style fits your vision.