Chapter 4 #3
Control stations ringed the bridge’s perimeter, each one customized for a specific function.
The helm station featured twin pilot seats upholstered in adaptive memory foam that molded to each occupant’s physiology, while neural interface headsets hung ready to provide direct connection to the ship’s navigation systems. Holographic displays materialized in the air around each station, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the faces of my crew members.
The forward viewport dominated the front wall like a massive eye gazing into the infinite—a seamless expanse of transparent aluminum that provided an unobstructed view of the star field stretching endlessly ahead through the space station’s viewport.
Distant suns glittered like scattered diamonds against the darkness of space, the light creating subtle prismatic effects as it passed through the viewport’s advanced filtering systems. When tactical situations demanded it, targeting displays, navigation charts, or magnified images, overlaid the viewport, transforming the peaceful vista into a battlefield map.
“All eighty-two crew members have returned and reported to stations, Captain,” my first mate Merkit reported, coming to stand by my side.
He stood as tall as me but lacked the thick muscle mass that came from years of intensive training.
His background lay in the sciences rather than the brutal warrior conditioning I had endured.
His scales created a landscape of different shades of green across his lean frame, from deep forest hues to lighter emerald tones.
Bright red highlights blazed across his chest and shoulders like war paint.
A crimson shade that was perfectly echoed in the color of his hair, which he wore pulled into a high topknot that emphasized the sharp angles of his features.
“Pilot,” I turned my attention to Yanku.
Despite being the youngest member of my crew, his piloting skills were legendary—second to none in the entire fleet.
His deep green hair fell in waves to his shoulders, with a rebellious lock perpetually falling across his forehead, giving him an almost boyish appearance.
“Take us out of the docking bay and set a course for Zarpazia.” The lock of hair shifted as he nodded, his hands already dancing across the controls.
“Cumar,” I addressed my communications officer, whose imposing frame dominated his station.
His scales formed a striking pattern of purple and yellow that rippled across his massive shoulders and arms, while he wore his deep purple hair cropped short.
Like me, he had served as part of the queen’s personal guard before her downfall.
“Contact the Alliance and request an encrypted comm with either the Prime or Ambassador Khaion—whichever one is available the quickest.”
“What is this special mission?” Merkit inquired. His gaze remained fixed on the datapad clutched in his hands as the ship’s massive engines rumbled to life, the harmonic vibrations traveling through the deck plates and into our bones.
“A rescue,” I replied, my voice carefully modulated as I glanced around the bridge.
My crew was hand-picked, each member chosen for their skill, dedication, and unwavering loyalty.
I trusted each one implicitly. “We will need Alliance assistance to extract a human and youngling from the reach of the Kwado prince.”
“The Kwado?” Merkit’s head snapped up, his deep red eyes narrowing as the implication hit him. “The human and youngling that the Wojonik search for?”
My nod was sharp and jerky, barely controlled anger radiating from every pore of my body. “They are safe now, and I intend to keep them that way.”
“Of course, Captain,” Merkit nodded, unwavering loyalty blazing in his crimson gaze.
We departed the space station without incident, the Eden’s massive bulk sliding through the docking bay’s atmospheric barrier with barely a shudder.
Our course to Zarpazia would take us through the Kepler Asteroid Fields.
A deliberate choice that would provide natural cover and multiple escape routes should we discover unwanted pursuit.
So far, Merkit’s sensor sweeps confirmed what I hoped.
We had departed undetected, our wake clean of following vessels.
I activated the internal communications system and contacted the galley, ordering virtually every human entrée on our menu to be prepared and delivered to Jolie and Lilibet’s quarters.
I had no way of knowing their preferences, and after their ordeal, they deserved choices and abundance.
The thought of them settling into the safety and comfort of the Eden eased some of the tension coiled in my shoulders.
Every instinct screamed at me to return to their quarters, to stand guard outside the door, and to ensure their safety with my own eyes.
But they needed food, rest, and time to process their newfound freedom.
The rational part of my mind understood this, even as the primal part of my nature chafed against the separation.
Still, I dispatched one of my most trusted guards to stand sentry outside their door and a yeoman to gather clothing and anything else he thought they might need—including instructing him to make a small miniature stuffed Kerzak.
An order for which more than one of my crewmen regarded me skeptically.
I settled into my command chair, forcing myself to focus on the mundane but necessary tasks that comprised the daily life of a ship captain.
Supply manifests required review and approval, crew rotation schedules needed updating, and maintenance reports demanded attention.
Yet despite my best efforts, my mind kept drifting back to Jolie and Lilibet.
To the fire that burned in the human female’s eyes despite the hell she must have endured at Qurbaga’s hands, to her fierce devotion to the youngling, and to Lilibet’s adorable, irrepressible energy despite what had to be a traumatic upbringing.
When I was with them, that broken, empty space inside me—the void that had consumed me since the queen’s torture—seemed filled with purpose and not quite so vast or cold. I would keep them safe. The Kwado prince would never touch them again.
I forced myself to concentrate on the tasks at hand, methodically reviewing and approving with the attention to detail that had kept my crew alive through countless missions.
The latest intelligence reports from Siemba’s extensive spy network required analysis.
Asad operatives had identified several new suspected human trafficking locations, potential targets for future rescue missions.
The sharp wail of proximity alarms shattered the bridge’s peace like a physical blow. I jerked upright in my chair, the datapad slipping from my suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter against the deck plates.
“Merkit, report!” I bellowed. My fist slammed down on the emergency alert button with enough force to send vibrations through the command console. Pulsing red light bathed the entire bridge as the ship’s defensive systems came online.
I whipped my head toward my first mate, reading the worry etched into every line of his features even before his words confirmed my fears.
“Two Kwado warships approaching fast, Captain,” he reported, his voice tight with controlled tension. “They’re running dark. No transponder signals, no communication attempts. This isn’t a routine patrol.”