A volley of green lasers erupted, screaming toward them at blistering speed. Kiran reacted with near-superhuman reflexes, snapping the ship sideways into a brutal ninety-degree roll. The beams skimmed past the hull by a hair’s breadth, making the entire frame vibrate.

  But a fresh warning flashed across the dashboard.

  “Shit…” Kiran muttered.

  The inertial dampening system had just failed. From now on, every maneuver would slam into the crew with its full, merciless force. A spike of agony tore through his body as he fought to stabilize the craft.

  Adam—hands black with soot—finally pulled his head out of the navigation console.

  “It’s now or never!”

  Kiran flicked a worried glance at the radar. The enemy fighter was too close. At that range, dodging another shot would be impossible.

  “Next hit and we’re done,” he said, his voice shaking.

  Adam lunged back to his console, hammered in Neuror’s coordinates, and confirmed the sequence.

  Ahead of them, a green flash ignited the void. Another burst of lethal energy tore toward their position.

  “NOW!”

  Kiran slammed the hyperspace control.

  The cockpit lights flickered. A jolt ran through the ship. A blinding glow swallowed the craft whole.

  A translucent bubble stretched around them, pulsing with unnatural intensity. Space warped and elongated like molten glass—then the chaos became light.

  All around them, luminous streams burst into existence: shimmering trails rippling through a sea of cosmic dust. Iridescent waves of energy raced past at an indescribable speed, an ocean of distorted stars folding and unfolding in a perpetual, impossible ballet.

  The ship itself seemed to dissolve into that ocean. Its outline blurred, casting ghostlike afterimages that overlapped its own silhouette. It was between worlds, suspended in the ether of time and space.

  They’d made it.

  Too close to the jump point, the light fighter was caught by the newborn hyperspace vortex. The pilot’s instruments went berserk—alarms howling as he fought desperately to regain control. It was futile.

  The titanic breath of energy unleashed by the tear in spacetime crushed the fighter’s hull with unbearable pressure. Circuits detonated in cascading bursts. Control panels fractured under the strain of impossible gravitational forces.

  Then, in a fraction of a second, the inevitable happened.

  The pilot yanked at his controls in a last, desperate attempt to break free.

  Too late.

  His ship shuddered, spun violently—then was swallowed whole by the ragged abyss of spacetime. A final scream crackled over the radio.

  Then nothing.

  Adam and Kiran exchanged a look that was equal parts relief and exhaustion. At last, they were safe. At last, they’d escaped the Consortium. At last—an instant to breathe… for now.

  The ship, barely holding together, stabilized within the hyperspace corridor, far from immediate danger. Adam slumped back in his seat and let out a long, trembling breath.

  “We did it… we survived…” he murmured.

  “Yeah…” Kiran breathed, nodding, eyes red with fatigue.

  Meanwhile, aboard the Consortium vessel in orbit above Oberon V, the Commander of DELTA Corps reviewed the surface operation reports.

  There was nothing left. Not a trace of the archaeological dig. The Esthéan structure had been erased from existence, replaced by a field of smoking rock—an open wound visible even from orbit.

  No evidence had survived.

  General Ryden would be pleased.

  And yet a shadow tainted the victory: one ship. One ancient pile of scrap. Two archaeologists.

  By some incomprehensible miracle, they had escaped. Worse, in their desperate flight, they’d taken down three fighters.

  But their respite would be brief.

  Their jump coordinates had been intercepted. Their destination was clear: Neuror.

  He stared at the holographic display, watching the reports scroll. His face remained perfectly neutral, but a flicker of frustration sharpened his gaze. That ship’s escape complicated everything.

  “All soldiers—prepare yourselves. We are setting course for Neuror. Failure is not an option. Interception mission incoming.”

  His cold voice echoed through the ship’s intercom, merciless.

  We must eliminate them before they can say a single word about Oberon… or else, the Commander thought.

  But he couldn’t wait for Neuror. He had to report to General Varek Ryden. Maybe the General would be understanding… maybe not. The outcome of this mission would decide his future. And if it was deemed a failure, he alone would bear the consequences.

  Failure, in the Consortium, was not tolerated.

  Drawing a steady breath, he entered the transport ship’s command chamber. Cold metal walls and dim lighting deepened the oppressive atmosphere.

  The circular room was built on two levels.

  The lower level overflowed with consoles and control panels, where operators worked in silence, monitoring every parameter. Each was absorbed in their task—a disciplined machine, perfectly oiled.

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  The upper level overlooked the room from a metal catwalk, offering a panoramic view of every station below. And at the center of that platform floated an enigmatic sphere, hovering slightly above its pedestal. A bluish glow pulsed within it, sometimes blurred, sometimes translucent.

  As he entered, the guards stationed on either side stepped aside with practiced respect.

  The Commander approached the sphere slowly, swallowed, then reached out to activate it. The interface vibrated and—in a heartbeat—established a secure connection with General Varek Ryden.

  Seconds later, an image shimmered, then stabilized.

  General Varek Ryden appeared as a hologram above the device. His piercing gaze settled on the Commander—impassive, heavy, waiting.

  “Commander,” he said in a deep voice. “Report.”

  The Commander snapped upright, executed a military salute, then clasped his hands behind his back.

  “General, I have crucial information to transmit… but not all of it is positive.”

  The Vortach’s antennae twitched slightly at that. His predator eyes—dark, shifting—seemed to deepen.

  “Speak.”

  “Your suspicions were correct, my General. We identified the source of the energy spike.”

  “Good. Continue.”

  “It was Esthéan in origin.”

  A heavy silence settled, broken only by the General’s cold voice.

  “Esthéan… What kind of technology was it?”

  “An experimentation facility. At least, based on the limited data we managed to extract.”

  “What kind of experimentation?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Did it represent a threat, Commander?”

  “None anymore, my General. We erased it. The entire surface of the site has been annihilated for several kilometers. No being in this galaxy will ever unlock its secrets.”

  Ryden nodded slowly, satisfied.

  “Good work, Commander.”

  “Thank you, my General.”

  But the Vortach’s gaze did not soften. His tone turned glacial again.

  “However… you mentioned bad news.”

  The Commander swallowed as the Vortach’s fearsome mandibles shifted slightly toward him—a predatory sign of attention.

  “Yes… A team of archaeologists was present on site. Five individuals.”

  “Five? Silenced?” the General interrupted immediately, eyes narrowing.

  “No, my General. Three were eliminated… but two escaped aboard an old ship. We intercepted their coordinates: they are heading for Neuror. An interception mission is being prepared.”

  A freezing silence fell.

  General Ryden folded his arms. Slowly, he raised his left hand and clenched it into a ruthless fist, his expression hardening further. His multi-faceted eyes locked onto the Commander like a silent threat.

  “You realize your mission is a failure.”

  The Commander lowered his head for a moment, crushed under the weight of it.

  “Yes, my General. I take full responsibility… and I will accept the consequences.”

  Ryden seemed to weigh his options, his gaze turning as cold as steel.

  “Do you understand the consequences of this failure? If those witnesses—those traitors—reveal what they discovered, it could compromise the entire Consortium.”

  His voice rumbled, harsh and relentless.

  “Esthéan technology, in the wrong hands, could shatter the balance of power across the Orion Arm.”

  The Commander clenched his jaw.

  “Yes, my General…”

  “No. I don’t think you fully grasp the gravity of the situation, Commander. If that information were to leak—regardless of what it is—it could ignite a civil war. Those secrets must remain forgotten forever.”

  “Yes… my General.”

  The Vortach studied him in silence for a moment—then delivered his verdict.

  “This failure is a disgrace to you. A threat to our security. An embarrassment to me.”

  He paused, then gave a razor-edged order.

  “Bring me your Lieutenant General.”

  The Commander obeyed without hesitation. Minutes later, a man in an immaculate uniform entered the operations chamber. He approached the Commander and stood at attention—rigid, alert.

  General Ryden fixed the newcomer with a predator’s appraisal.

  “Your name, Lieutenant?”

  The officer straightened even more, features firm and determined.

  “Lieutenant-General Marcus Renfield, at your command, my General!” he replied, executing a flawless salute.

  “At ease, Lieutenant.”

  Ryden paused, studying him a moment longer.

  “You’ve followed the events. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

  “Yes, my General,” Marcus answered without hesitation. “We must stop the fugitives immediately.”

  A thin, predatory smile tugged at the Vortach’s mandibles.

  “Good. You are now in command of this mission.”

  Silence.

  Then Ryden issued his final order.

  “Intercept that ship before it reaches Neuror. You have full authorization.”

  His gaze darkened.

  “You know what must be done.”

  The Commander understood what that sudden reversal meant for him. Resignation washed over him. Slowly, he removed his helmet and turned toward Marcus Renfield.

  The Lieutenant-General’s stare was ice—devoid of the slightest mercy.

  The Commander parted his lips, searching for words. But he already knew. No excuse would save him. His heart hammered. Cold sweat slid down the back of his neck. He swallowed, eyes locked on Renfield.

  “It was an honor to serve you, General Varek Ryden.”

  A beat of silence.

  A blaster snapped up.

  One shot. Precise. Between the eyes.

  The detonation cracked through the stillness of the chamber. The body collapsed heavily with a metallic crash. Blood splattered the floor. The acrid stench of burned flesh spread as a thin thread of smoke rose from the charred skull.

  For a moment, the operators froze—

  Then resumed their work as if nothing had happened.

  The punishment was severe.

  But it was Ryden’s signature.

  No failure was tolerated.

  The General pointed an authoritative finger toward Renfield, his tone sharp as a blade.

  “Good. Commander Renfield—do not disappoint me.”

  “Understood, General!” Marcus replied, snapping a perfect salute.

  The new Commander of DELTA Corps held the Vortach’s gaze, determined to prove his worth.

  Ryden nodded slowly, satisfied.

  “Ensure this mission is carried out with maximum efficiency. Time is against us. You have full authorization to eliminate those traitors.”

  “We will not fail, my General,” Renfield declared firmly.

  “Good.”

  The hologram flickered—then vanished.

  Marcus remained alone on the platform, his expression hard. He drew a deep breath, then turned to the operators.

  “Patch me through to the intercom.”

  A beep confirmed the connection.

  “Prepare the ship and our troops. Calculate hyperspace jump coordinates. Destination: Neuror.”

  The room snapped into higher gear. Operators hammered at their consoles, syncing trajectories. Soldiers—already geared up—streamed toward the hangars. In the armament bay, fighters were unlocked and ready to launch the moment they dropped out of hyperspace.

  Renfield swept his gaze across the chamber. Everyone knew their role.

  “Lieutenant Dawson, prepare for a rapid interception. We strike immediately on exit. The enemy must not have time to react.”

  “Understood, Commander,” Dawson answered over the intercom, then moved at a brisk pace toward the fighter hangar.

  Marcus stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the endless expanse of space beyond the viewport. He knew this mission would decide more than his future—it could decide the Consortium’s. Every order, every decision, had to be perfect.

  An alert tone sounded.

  “Hyperspace jump in five… four… three… two… one!” announced the navigation officer.

  A deep rumble ran through the ship as an energy wave wrapped around its hull. In an instant, it tore free of its origin point, swallowed by a bluish vortex, plunging into hyperspace at immeasurable speed.

  The journey would be short.

  Renfield clenched his fists, replaying General Ryden’s words in his mind.

  He could not fail.