Chapter Text
The Halcyon groaned.
It wasn’t a good groan—the kind of groan that came from overloaded engines or a cooling system doing its best impression of a dying animal. Raelle didn’t even glance up from her worn-out control panel. She just swore under her breath and smacked the screen with the heel of her palm. The readout flickered, steadied. She smirked.
"Still got it," she muttered.
“Captain, please stop hitting the nav system,” came a voice from behind her—smooth, sarcastic, and utterly done with this ship.
Tally Craven leaned in the doorway of the cockpit, arms crossed, auburn curls pinned up with a screwdriver. She was the ship's mechanic, engineer, communications officer, and, on her worst days, morale manager.
“Maybe it wouldn’t need hitting if someone fixed the calibration,” Raelle shot back, kicking her boots up onto the dash with a heavy thunk. She squinted at the stars through the viewport—nothing but black velvet and pinpricks. Peaceful. Boring.
“Calibration was fine before you decided to outrun an entire faction of mercs through an asteroid field,” Tally said sweetly. “Not all of us have a death wish, Captain.”
“I don’t have a death wish,” Raelle said. “I have a deadline.”
Tally rolled her eyes just as Abigail Bellweather stormed in, dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform, not a single strand of hair out of place, as if the Halcyon wasn't one blown fuse away from catastrophic failure. Abigail had once commanded entire fleets. Now she ran the ship’s logistics and still barked orders like they meant something.
“We’re two hours behind schedule, and our buyer on Pelora IV is notoriously trigger-happy. If we show up late again, we’re toast.”
“We’ve been toast before,” Raelle said with a shrug. “Maybe this time we’ll be jam.”
Tally groaned.
Abigail ignored them both and tossed a datapad onto the console. “Also, somethings been pinging our comms relay. Ghost signals, backtraced to sector N-7. Weird frequency.”
That made Raelle sit up. “Central?”
Abigail nodded. “Could just be mercenaries. Could be Central, could be also be bait.”
Raelle stared out at the stars again. “We’re not stopping to check.”
“No argument here,” Abigail said. “I like this ship in one piece.”
They stood in silence for a beat, listening to the distant hum of the engines and the occasional clatter from below deck—probably Sterling trying to make coffee with a blowtorch again. That man swore it added “flavour.” What it actually added was the smell of scorched regret.
Raelle picked up the datapad and scanned the report anyway. The signal. The same one every ship in the galaxy had learned to ignore.
“Did they really think this would lure people out to Sector N-7?” she muttered. “I mean, come on. Anyone with a single brain cell knows it’s the no man’s land of space. Central could carve you up and stitch you back together wrong out there and no one would ever know.”
Abigail crossed her arms. “Still. Someone’s trying to ride the legend. Trying to lure people in with a signal older than this ship."
Raelle’s lip curled. “Yeah, well. Let them ride it straight into a black hole. We’re not playing today.”
She dropped the datapad back onto the console with a thunk, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes like she could will the galaxy into giving her one easy week.
That was when the proximity alert went off.
Raelle straightened, eyes snapping to the screen. “There’s Pelora IV,” she said slowly. “Wait—who the hell’s flying this thing?”
The proximity alert warbled again—sharp, insistent.
“That would be you, Captain,” Tally said helpfully as she reappeared in the cockpit, casually chewing on a protein bar like nothing was happening. “Try not to fly us into a crater this time.”
“That was one time,” Raelle growled, grabbing the yoke. “And I was distracted.”
“Yeah, by a guy trying to sell you moonshine filtered through his own socks.”
“He said it was artisanal!”
Abigail didn’t even blink. “We’re coming in hot. Angle five degrees starboard or we’ll skim the outer defense grid and light up like a signal flare.”
Raelle muttered something unintelligible and adjusted course, fingers dancing over the controls with practiced ease.
The Halcyon groaned again in protest, but the stars shifted in the viewport and Pelora IV grew larger—its dusty rings catching the faint glow of its sun, its surface glittering with more promise than it would ever deliver.
“Alright,” Raelle said, jaw tight. “Let’s drop this cargo, get paid, and get the hell out of here before something decides to shoot us on principle.”
“Music to my ears,” Tally said. “Want me to prep the thrusters in case we need a fast exit?”
Raelle’s eyes rolled but stayed locked on the planet ahead.
“Prep ‘em just incase.”
Raelle guided them in with careful precision, threading the needle between the outer defense grid and any drifting patrols from the Central Alliance. Pelora IV was officially neutral territory, but that didn’t mean it was safe. Not with Central ships sniffing around the fringes like bored wolves looking for an excuse.
The Halcyon settled onto the docking ring with a hiss of hydraulics and a low, mechanical sigh—like the ship was just as relieved to stop moving as her crew.
“Docking clamps engaged,” Tally said from the console. “No one shot at us. Do we count that as a win or just foreplay?”
“Unload the cargo,” Raelle barked, already up and moving. “Abigail, with me. Sterling, don’t start any fires while we’re gone.”
“Define ‘fire,’” came Sterling’s voice over the intercom.
Raelle didn’t dignify that with a response.
She descended the loading ramp into the thick, dusty heat of the Peloran air, boots hitting metal with a heavy thud. The sky above was a dull gold haze, caught between pollution and artificial orbital light. Dockhands scurried around like ants, hauling crates, shouting in half a dozen languages, while security drones floated overhead with blinking red eyes.
“Buyer?” Abigail asked, scanning the crowd.
“Landing bay three,” Raelle replied, already peeling off down the dock like she knew exactly where to go—which, of course, she did. She’d dealt with this particular buyer before. Unpleasant. Efficient. Paid on time.
Abigail jogged to keep up. “Think they’ll lowball us again?”
“If they do, I’ll shoot them in the kneecap and take full asking price.”
“Ah,” Abigail said. “Negotiation. Classic.”
Behind them, the loading ramp hissed open wider as Tally and Sterling began hauling crates off the ship. A few curious dockworkers eyed the Halcyon’s scars and engine mods, whispering among themselves.
And in the shadows near the far edge of the ring, a woman watched.
Messy brown hair tucked under a hood. Satchel tight to her side. A glint of something metal at her hip. Her eyes tracked the ship. The people. The timing.
She waited.
Pelora IV’s docking ring bustled with the kind of casual lawlessness that made this quadrant famous. No real enforcement, just bored security drones and dockhands more interested in side deals than safety.
Two of The Halcyon’s crew had wandered off in search of their buyer—no doubt to finalize payment for whatever clearly illegal cargo they'd just unloaded. The others had been left behind to watch the ship. They were doing a spectacularly poor job of it.
From her vantage point behind a stack of fuel drums, Scylla watched.
The tall one with grease on her boots—probably the mechanic—was deep in conversation with two dock workers. They were laughing about something involving coolant lines and someone’s questionable ex. The other guy, a walking fire hazard in a stained jacket, was very focused on trying to sell a homemade energy drink out of the back of a crate labeled EXPLOSIVE – DO NOT SHAKE.
Perfect.
Scylla moved.
She slipped through the side access lane, keeping her hood low, timing her steps with the rumble of passing loader bots. The ship’s hull loomed above her—patched together, worn from long fights and fast getaways. She liked it already.
A quick tap to the maintenance hatch’s security plate, and it opened with a quiet click. Child’s play.
Inside, it was cooler. Dimmer. Quieter. She moved fast, slipping through the narrow service corridors of The Halcyon like she’d done it a hundred times before. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for yet. Maybe just a place to hide. Maybe a way to jack into the nav system. Maybe a ship worth stealing.
She passed a galley that smelled like burnt synth-meat, a bunkroom that looked lived-in but empty, and finally reached engineering.
It was beautiful.
Not in a clean, high-tech way. In a chaotic, patched-together, lovingly abused kind of way. This ship had seen things. Fought things. Survived.
Scylla knelt beside the main access panel and pulled out her tools. Just a peek under the hood. Just a little hello.
The metal was warm under her hands, humming with restrained power. The wiring was a tangled mess—but intentional. Someone had modified this system by hand. Not with factory parts, not by protocol. With instinct.
And despite the way it looked from the outside—scuffed hull, mismatched plating, scorch marks that hadn’t even been buffed out—this ship moved. She could feel it in the bones of the frame. Every line whispered a history of close calls and hot exits. It looked like a heap of shit, but the more she studied it, the more Scylla realized that might have been the point.
The Halcyon was a decoy wrapped in bad attitude and dented alloy.
She grinned, low and wicked, and pulled her pad from her satchel. One end of the cable slotted into a port near the coolant manifold. The other slid into her data pad. A quiet chirp confirmed the link.
Scylla’s eyes flicked over the readout. The engine core was clean. Hot. Efficient. Shields patched in strange places. Weapons rerouted through power regulators she didn’t even know existed in this quadrant. Someone had turned this ship into a ghost with claws.
“Oh, baby,” she murmured, half to herself. “You could definitely get me out of a bind.”
And the best part?
She could take control. Easy.
Just a couple of lines of code. A soft override on the nav. By the time anyone noticed, she’d be long gone and halfway to deadspace.
---
The cargo run had gone surprisingly smooth.
No weapons fire, no double-cross, and no one tried to stiff them on credits. A rare win. They were back on the docking ring now, engines cycling through their cool-down hum. Tally was below deck checking coolant pressure. Abigail was scanning comms for potential leads. Raelle was just looking forward to five uninterrupted minutes of not wanting to scream.
She stepped into the corridor, heading for the galley, when she heard it—soft, deliberate movement. Not Tally’s clunky boots or Sterling’s off-key singing. Something else.
Something quieter.
Raelle’s hand went straight to the pistol at her side. She moved fast, silent, down the corridor toward engineering, following the faintest sound of footsteps and... tapping?
She rounded the corner.
There she was.
Shoulder-length brown hair. A satchel slung across her back. Hands deep in one of the access panels, tools she clearly shouldn’t have, almost lovingly arranged on the floor. She hadn’t noticed Raelle yet.
Bold.
“Want to explain,” Raelle said coolly, gun raised, “why you’re elbow-deep in my ship?”
The woman didn’t flinch.
Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, arched an eyebrow, and offered the faintest hint of a smirk.
“I was thinking about stealing it.”
Raelle blinked. “You were what?”
Scylla stood, slow and unbothered, wiping her hands on a rag like they were just chatting at a bar.
“Ship’s got a decent build,” she said. “Grimy, sure, but the mods? Impressive. Not exactly subtle though. The exterior’s screaming ‘retired military’ loud enough that I almost didn’t risk it.”
Raelle didn’t lower her weapon.
“You always this casual when you break into ships?”
Scylla tilted her head. “Only the ones worth stealing.”
Raelle’s trigger finger twitched.
“Wanna tell me why I shouldn’t shoot out your kneecaps out right now?”
Scylla didn’t even blink. Just raised her hand—slowly—and revealed what she’d been palming in her left glove.
A flash grenade. Or, at least, something very close. Scylla had clearly modified it—there were extra ports on the casing, a blinking diode where there definitely shouldn't be one, and a scorch mark near the pin that suggested she'd field-tested it somewhere stupid.
“Because,” she said, voice light, “I’m standing next to your plasma coil…”
She angled her head toward the humming column at her side, casually cradling the device.
“…and I’m holding this. So if you want to kill both of us, please—go ahead.”
Her smile was wide, just this side of reckless. “Captain, what was it?”
She asked the question like she hadn’t just broken into the ship. Like this was a polite dinner party and not a potential hostage situation. Like she wasn't holding a grenade next to a plasma coil and threatening to blow them both sky-high with a grin on her lips.
Raelle narrowed her eyes.
Who the fuck was this girl?
What was she doing on her ship?
Why is she so hot?
Her gaze raked down the intruder’s body before she could stop herself—dark boots, fitted cargo pants, a jacket that looked like it had been stitched together on the run, and a hip cocked with far too much confidence for someone about to get spaced. Her eyes flicked back up.
Then Raelle answered the question, voice sharp as a blade.
“Captain Collar. And you would be?”
The girl smirked, unbothered. “Oh, I’m just Scylla.”
“Okay just Scylla, how about I escort you off my ship—”
Raelle took a step forward, grip tightening on her pistol.
“—or we both explode. Which one would you prefer?”
Scylla’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, you’re no fun, Captain.”
The smirk deepened.
“But you are very pretty when you’re mad.”
Raelle was flustered beyond belief.
Not from the threat—she could handle armed stowaways in her sleep. Not from the danger—hell, she'd survived worse. No, it was the sheer nerve of this outrageously hot intruder standing there with her grenade and her grin and her maddening, maddening calm.
If this had been any other scenario—any place but her ship, her engine room, in the middle of a volatile trade run—Raelle might’ve already dragged this smug woman straight into her bunk.
Instead—
“I—what—who—” Raelle stammered, hand twitching at her side as the pistol dropped slightly. “What the hell?”
Scylla just raised her brows, the corner of her mouth still curved in that godforsaken smirk.
Raelle made a strangled sound, like her brain had briefly blue-screened, then let out a frustrated exhale and lowered her weapon entirely. She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something about the universe hating her.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, finally meeting Scylla’s eyes again. “And please—put that away.”
She swatted a hand at the still-blinking grenade like it was a fly, the motion more exasperated than fearful.
Scylla clicked something on the casing and the grenade let out a soft descending chime as it powered down. She tucked it back into her jacket with casual ease.
“I was admiring your ship,” she said sweetly. “And considering borrowing it. Temporarily.”
Raelle stared at her, utterly exhausted and a little stunned.
“You’re insane.”
“Debatable,” Scylla said brightly. “But I am charming.”
Raelle opened her mouth to say something—maybe to order Scylla off the ship, maybe to demand answers, maybe to scream into the void—when the sound of boots echoed down the corridor.
“Tally, don’t—” Raelle started.
Too late.
Tally came spinning around the corner, mid-sentence. “Raelle, did you reroute the coolant feed because the core’s humming like Sterling after—”
She froze.
Stared.
Then pointed a dramatic, accusing finger at Scylla. “Oh. Who the hell are you?!"
Scylla opened her mouth, but Tally steamrolled forward.
“Oh no. No no no. Who’s been in my engine? Did you touch my tools?”
Scylla blinked. “I may have—”
“That is sacrilege!” Tally wailed, darting past both of them to the scattered toolset on the floor. “You don’t touch someone else’s tools! This is basic decency. This is culture. This is civilization!”
Scylla glanced at Raelle, genuinely confused. “Is she okay?”
“No,” Raelle muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “She’s Tally.”
Tally was already reorganizing her kit by size and type, muttering under her breath like someone had committed a war crime. She gave the wrench a disappointed little look and wiped it with the hem of her sleeve.
Then, without a single glance at Scylla or Raelle, she stood, dusted off her hands, collected her tools and walked toward the door.
“Anyway,” she said breezily, “just let me know if she kills you, I’ll reroute power to the medbay.”
And with that, she was gone.
Silence hung in the engine room.
Scylla turned back to Raelle, deadpan. “You run a tight ship, Captain.”
Raelle groaned, long and deep, and dragged both hands down her face.
“Yeah. Something like that,” she muttered. Then she looked at Scylla again, exasperated and maybe just the tiniest bit intrigued. “Listen, if you want to kill me, go ahead. If you want to steal the ship? Please. Give it a try.”
She gestured vaguely to the room. “But I reckon Tally has already rerouted power from this section right about—”
The lights flickered overhead.
The engine hummed low and sullen, and then the whole room dipped into a moody half-glow. The temperature dropped a few degrees.
Raelle grinned.
“—now,” she finished, smug.
Scylla raised both eyebrows. “Huh.”
“She’s dramatic,” Raelle said. “And terrifying. You’ll learn.”
Scylla looked around at the room she was very clearly no longer in control of and gave a single, casual shrug. “Noted.”
Raelle slid her gun back into its holster and took a slow breath, trying to decide what level of chaos she was currently living through.
“Well,” she said finally. “How about we go get a drink. You can tell me what you're doing here. And maybe where the hell you’re trying to get to.”
Scylla tilted her head like she was deciding whether or not to make a flirty comment—then thought better of it. For now.
“Lead the way, Captain.”
Raelle pivoted on her boots and strode out of the engine room without another word, boots echoing down the corridor like this was just... a normal part of her day. Just another Tuesday with illegal cargo, ghost signals, and a hot stowaway with a grenade.
Scylla followed, hands in her jacket pockets, smile blooming slow and wicked across her face.
Raelle led the way through the dim, narrow corridor of The Halcyon, her boots setting the pace—brisk, sharp, decisive. Scylla followed a few steps behind, taking in everything. The creaky panels. The mismatched lighting. The worn-in feel of a ship that’d seen hell and made it out the other side, more or less intact.
They reached the galley—small, metallic, utilitarian. No windows. A table bolted to the floor, several mismatched chairs, and a shelf crammed with ration packs and a few battered bottles of questionable origin.
No one else was inside. No one to stop this from getting interesting.
Raelle went straight to the shelf, grabbed a bottle with no label, and pulled the cork out with her teeth like she was daring the day to get weirder. She dropped into one of the chairs with a heavy exhale and gestured wordlessly to another.
Scylla arched a brow, but sat.
Raelle took a long pull from the bottle, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then passed it across the table.
She clearly didn’t believe in glasses.
Scylla accepted the bottle, amused. “Classy.”
Raelle gave her a look. “You break into my ship, threaten to blow us up, and criticize my bar etiquette?”
Scylla raised the bottle in mock salute and took a drink. It burned. Of course it did.
Raelle leaned forward slightly, not threatening—just intense.
“So,” Raelle said, grabbing the bottle again and taking another drink before sliding it back across the table. “Why were you trying to steal my ship?”
Scylla caught the bottle without looking and leaned back in the chair, one boot hooked lazily around a table leg. “I just needed transport off this planet.”
Raelle squinted. “And where exactly are you trying to get to?”
Scylla shrugged. “Not here.”
Raelle blinked. “Wow. That’s incredibly helpful.”
“I’m a very helpful person,” Scylla said, all false sincerity.
Raelle snorted, resting her elbow on the table and pointing loosely at her. “Okay, smartass. How’d you get to here?”
“On a small cruiser.”
Raelle tilted her head. “And where’s that ship now?”
Scylla shrugged again. “Dunno. Wasn’t mine to start with.”
Raelle let out a slow whistle and leaned back, finally starting to appreciate the full picture. “So you stole two ships.”
Scylla held up a finger. “Technically I stole one ship and attempted to steal another, haven’t succeeded with this one...yet."
Raelle’s gaze drifted over her again, more calculating now. Then she saw it—just under the sleeve of Scylla’s jacket, where the fabric had ridden up slightly: a thin, raw slice on her inner forearm, still red at the edges.
She frowned.
“Why’d you rip a tracer out of your arm?”
Scylla froze for a half-second. Just long enough for Raelle to catch it.
Raelle’s grin sharpened. Finally, a win. The outrageously hot intruder had a crack in her armor.
Scylla exhaled slowly and looked down at the bottle in her hands.
“I stole something,” she said quietly. “Something big. From the Central Planets.”
Raelle’s brow rose, but she didn’t interrupt.
“They sent bounty hunters. One of them got me with a tracer. Managed to have it removed on—” she hesitated, then said, “Valtris.”
Raelle whistled again, lower this time. “You stole from Central and you ditched them on Valtris? That’s bold.”
“Bold,” Scylla echoed, her voice flat. “Sure.”
Raelle leaned back in her chair.
“Well then,” she said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Raelle tipped the bottle to her lips again, then lowered it just enough to ask, “What’d you steal?”
Scylla didn’t even blink. “A data core.”
Raelle’s eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully casual about that.”
Scylla leaned her elbows on the table, her tone maddeningly level. “It’s the truth. Figured there’s no point lying when I’m already sitting in your galley and technically still trespassing.”
Raelle considered that. “Fair.”
She leaned forward slightly, studying her.
“What’s on the data core?”
Scylla shrugged. “No idea. Yet.”
That gave Raelle pause. “You stole a mystery drive from the Central Planets?”
“Yep.”
Raelle stared. “And you don’t know what’s on it.”
“Nope.”
Raelle leaned back, utterly bewildered. “Must be important if they sent bounty hunters after you.”
Scylla raised the bottle in a lazy toast. “Must be.”
Raelle shook her head, grinning despite herself. “You’re something else.”
Scylla smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You must suspect what’s on it,” Raelle said, brow furrowed. “Otherwise why the hell would you steal it?”
Scylla took another sip from the bottle, calm as ever. “I was poking around in their systems. Central systems are ridiculously easy to get into, by the way. Like, embarrassingly so.”
Raelle didn’t interrupt—just narrowed her eyes as Scylla went on.
“I came across some encrypted files. Followed the trail, deeper and deeper… and it led me to a physical data core.”
She leaned forward, tapping the table lightly with one finger. “The only part I managed to decode before I had to bail said one thing.”
She held Raelle’s gaze.
“13day signal.”
Raelle froze.
Her eyes went wide and she slowly set the bottle down on the table with a heavy thunk.
“You think the Central Planets know where the 13day signal comes from?”
Scylla nodded once. “If I can crack the rest of the core, I guess we’ll find out. And judging by how many bounty hunters they sent after me?” She leaned back with a small, satisfied shrug. “I’d say it’s a good bet they know far more than they’ve ever let on.”
Raelle exhaled, running a hand over her mouth. “So instead of just copying the data or leaking it, you decided to… what? Grab the whole core?”
“Yep,” Scylla said. “Figured it’d be easier. I didn’t have enough time to fully download it. So I stole the whole thing.”
She said it like she was describing what she ate for lunch.
“Getting into the building was easy. Told every door on the way in to open. Knocked out one security patrol and borrowed his uniform. In and out.” She paused. “Only a few alarms went off behind me.”
Raelle stared at her, equal parts horrified and… okay, a little impressed.
“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, voice low. “I could take you straight to the Central Alliance military.”
Scylla met her eyes. Unblinking. “Because I don’t think you will.”
Raelle’s fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table.
“How you figure that?” she asked, voice flat.
Scylla didn’t hesitate. “You’re flying an old Outer Rim military ship. Stripped ID codes, retrofitted weapons, patched hull. That’s not Alliance standard. So unless you stole it, I’m guessing you didn’t fight on their side during the civil war.”
Raelle didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Because she was right.
Scylla watched her closely, then added, “And judging by the shady characters you were hauling cargo to earlier, I’d suspect you stay well away from Alliance patrols. Trade that doesn’t go through their checkpoints. Money that doesn’t get taxed. You’re not a fan.”
Raelle’s jaw tightened, just for a second.
“They’re a bunch of totalitarian assholes,” she said finally, the words biting. “They don’t give a shit about freedom, or people, or life. They just want you to fall in line, give them fifty percent of whatever credits you manage to scrape together, and smile while you do it.”
Her voice dropped.
“And if you don’t? If you even think about pushing back?” Her eyes were sharp now. Hard. “They put you in jail or shoot you.”
Scylla didn’t gloat. She just nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s what I thought.”
Raelle leaned forward again, resting her forearms on the table. Her eyes were sharp now, calculating.
“Someone’s out in Sector N-7,” she said. “Pinging out the 13day code. Hit our comms earlier today.”
Scylla scoffed, reaching for the bottle again. “Probably just mercs trying to mimic the 13day code to reel in scavengers. Or Central, trying to bait idiots into showing up there thinking they've actually tracked that signal. As if anyone actually knows where that code comes from. It just—” she waved the bottle vaguely, “—exists. Beams out across the galaxy like a ghost. Nobody’s ever tracked the origin. Every ship hears it. No one knows where it starts.
Raelle’s eyebrow rose. “And yet someone always thinks they’ve cracked it. Follows it. Disappears. You’d have to be an idiot to think you've actually traced that code to it's source. If the ping this morning was real, Central wouldn’t just be lurking—they’d be swarming.”
“Exactly,” Scylla said, taking a sip. “Some poor bastard with more guts than sense ends up drifting into N-7, right into a trap, with a blown nav system and no backup.”
Raelle tilted her head. “That’s what I thought, too.”
She let that hang for a moment before adding, “But then you show up. On my ship. With a stolen data core. That includes a line of code labeled 13day signal. That just coincidence?"
Scylla didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk this time.
She just shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Raelle stared at her, trying to read what was behind that maddening calm.
“Maybe? That’s the best you’ve got?”
Scylla leaned back, stretching out in the chair like this was any other casual conversation.
“Well, Captain,” she said, tone dry, “I haven’t had time to decode the rest of the core yet. But if it turns out the Central Planets know where the galaxy’s weirdest signal is coming from… I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“What do you need to get the data from that core?” Raelle asked, her voice low, curiosity finally getting the better of her.
Scylla studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to trust her with the answer—or if she even cared.
“Just time,” she said at last. “It’s coded. Deep. But I can break it.”
Raelle tilted her head. “You’re very confident.”
“I am,” Scylla agreed simply, with a calm certainty that made it sound like fact, not ego.
Raelle stared at her a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine. You can stay.”
She said it like Scylla hadn’t just broken into her ship, threatened mutual destruction, and tried to take over her engine room not twenty minutes ago.
Scylla blinked. “I—wait. You’re offering me to stay? On your ship?”
“Yeah,” Raelle muttered, grabbing the bottle again. “Just… don’t stab me in my sleep or anything.”
Scylla smiled sweetly. “Please. I’m much more tactful than that. I’d just disable the gravity and open all the airlocks.”
Raelle paused, genuinely considering that for a moment.
“Okay… well, don’t do that either.”
Scylla held up a hand in mock surrender. “Okay.”
Raelle stood, brushing her hands across her thighs as she moved toward the galley door. She paused just before stepping out, then leaned back in.
Scylla was still sitting at the table, bottle in hand, staring at the wall like she was trying to reconcile her current reality with how her day had started.
“Come on, Just Scylla,” Raelle called, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s go. I need to explain this mess to my crew.”
Scylla blinked, then stood and followed with a bemused, “Right. Sure. Why not.”
Raelle wound her way through the ship’s narrow corridors, barely glancing back to make sure Scylla was still behind her. The hum of the ship grew louder as they approached the aft section. They emerged onto the upper level of the large cargo bay, steel stairs winding down to the main floor where the rest of the crew had gathered.
Three figures were clustered near a stack of crates—talking, tinkering, or in Sterling’s case, possibly plotting something highly flammable.
As they descended, Raelle raised a hand in half-greeting. “You’ve met Tally,” she said to Scylla, then pointed a firm finger. “Don’t touch her tools again.”
Tally, already mid-rant about coolant flow, didn’t even look up. “I cleaned them after, so if they explode next time, that’s your problem.”
Raelle continued. “That’s Abigail—our onboard sense of order and terrifying efficiency.”
Abigail gave Scylla a once-over, arms crossed and unimpressed. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
“And that,” Raelle said with a faint grimace, “is Sterling.”
Sterling grinned and waved, holding what looked suspiciously like a plasma torch in one hand and a half-eaten protein bar in the other. “Welcome to the circus!”
Raelle planted herself at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips.
“Guys, this is Scylla. She stole a data core from the Central Alliance and is currently on the run.”
All three crewmembers responded at once.
“Of course she did,” Tally said, nodding.
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Naturally.”
Sterling just went, “Cool. Is she staying for dinner?”
Scylla blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Raelle sighed. “This is why I drink.”
No one moved to question it. Not really.
If their captain said this girl was staying, then she was staying. That was how it worked on The Halcyon. You rolled with it, or you got left behind.
Scylla, still blinking at the ease of her acceptance into what appeared to be a deeply unhinged yet fully functional crew, shifted slightly beside Raelle.
Then Sterling spoke up.
“As head of security around here,” he began, puffing up like that was an actual position and not just something he’d declared one day with zero opposition, “do you want me to like... run some kind of security checks?”
He said it with the air of someone who definitely thought “security checks” involved asking if she had any cool weapons and maybe setting a sensor or two on fire for fun.
Raelle side-eyed him. “Your last ‘security check’ involved accidentally disabling life support on Deck Two for three hours.”
Sterling winced. “That was one time. And also—it was fine.”
“We had to share oxygen with the cargo plants,” Abigail added without looking up from her tablet.
“Look, the plants thrived under pressure,” Sterling muttered, then turned to Scylla with a grin. “Anyway, you seem cool. Don’t vaporize us and we’re good.”
Scylla blinked again. “That’s it? No interrogation? No ‘prove you’re not a spy’ routine?”
Tally shrugged, hopping up onto a crate. “You didn’t break anything important. And if Raelle says you’re not gonna kill us in our sleep, that’s good enough for me.”
Raelle crossed her arms. “I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it with your body language,” Tally replied sweetly.
Scylla looked at Raelle, then the crew, then back again. “This ship is insane.”
Raelle smirked. “Yeah. But it flies.”
Abigail, ever the voice of reason—or at least forward motion—clapped her hands once with a decisive snap.
“Okay, if that’s that,” she said, eyeing Scylla like she might still be armed with something inconvenient, “can we please get off this planet?”
“Yes,” Raelle declared. “Let’s go.”
“Ooh, where to next, Captain?” Tally asked, sliding off the crate and falling into step beside her, full of mock innocence.
“We’ve got a meeting on Eos in three days,” Raelle said.
“You say meeting,” Tally pointed out, “but you mean shady business deal, right?”
“Right,” Raelle confirmed without missing a beat.
Abigail, already halfway across the cargo bay, “I’ll start prep. We leave in ten.” she shouted as she waved them off and disappeared up the stairs and out the door.
Moments later, her voice crackled crisply through the comm system.
“Tally, can I have power back to the engines, please.”
“Oh—right, yes!” Tally spun on her heel and bolted out of the bay. “Sorry! One moment! Just gotta un-do all the things I rerouted to lock down our stowaway!”
Scylla watched her go with wide eyes. “Is she always like that?”
“Mostly,” Raelle said, already turning to head up the stairs.
Sterling slung an arm around Scylla’s shoulder like they were old friends. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Either way, welcome aboard.”
“Come on, Just Scylla,” Raelle called over her shoulder as she led the way out of the cargo bay.
Scylla followed without a word, her steps echoing against the metal floor as they wound back through the narrow corridors, past the galley and its lingering smell of burnt rations and dubious liquor.
Raelle walked with practiced ease, like the ship was an extension of herself. She stopped at a fork and pointed casually.
“Cockpit’s up that way,” she said. Then, with a smirk, “Engine room’s down there. Not that you need directions.”
Scylla gave her a look, but said nothing. Raelle grinned and kept walking.
She stopped at a door just ahead and slapped the panel. It slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a small bunk room—simple, cramped, but clean. A bed, a wall locker, a shelf half-filled with someone else’s abandoned items.
“You can sleep here,” Raelle said, nodding inside.
She pointed down the corridor. “I’m down there. Tally’s up that way. Abigail’s at the end, and Sterling’s across the hall.”
She jabbed a thumb at the closed door behind her for emphasis.
Scylla stepped into the room and gave it a once-over. “Cozy.”
Raelle leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not a passenger. You pull your weight or you’re gone.”
Scylla turned, her smirk returning. “Good thing I’m very useful.”
Raelle tried not to react to the way that smirk made her pulse skip. She pushed off the frame with a sigh.
“Rest up. We jump in ten.”
And with that, she turned and disappeared down the corridor, boots thudding softly as she went.
Scylla stepped into the room and cast her gaze around. It was small but solid—walls of dull steel, a bunk that looked serviceable, and a narrow table bolted to the floor.
She shrugged off her satchel, letting it drop with a soft thud onto the table. With practiced ease, she unzipped it and pulled out the matte-black data core—heavy, palm-sized, pulsing faintly with a dull orange light.
She set it down with care.
“Right then,” she said to the device, cracking her knuckles. “Let’s crack your secrets.”
From the bag, she pulled out her pad and a handful of mismatched cables, fingers moving fast as she plugged in her interface and routed power. Her brow furrowed, already slipping into her focused rhythm.
“Is that thing putting out any tracking signals?”
Scylla jumped.
She hadn’t heard the footsteps.
Tally leaned casually in the doorway, arms crossed and a data pad in hand, like she’d just wandered in to check the plumbing.
Scylla blinked. “I… don’t think so?”
Tally raised a brow.
“I mean, I scrubbed it for transmitters before I left Valtris,” Scylla added. “Didn’t find anything active.”
“‘Didn’t find’ isn’t the same as ‘definitely isn’t,’” Tally muttered, already tapping commands into her own pad. “Just in case, I’ll throw a dampening field around your room. Should kill any long-range signals and screw with anything trying to snoop.”
Scylla watched her for a beat. “Thanks?”
Tally didn’t look up. “You break anything, I will know. And if I don’t, Raelle will. And then she’ll make me fix it while glaring at me the entire time.”
Scylla smirked. “I’ll try to behave.”
Tally shot her a side-eye as the hum of the dampening field powered up around the room.
“Good luck with that,” she said, then turned and vanished back down the corridor.
Raelle stepped into the cockpit to find Abigail already at the controls, her hands moving with calm, practiced precision as she prepared for departure.
Abigail didn’t look up. “You sure about that one, Captain?”
Raelle let out a breath and dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, boots thudding as she tossed them up onto the console like she owned the stars.
“I dunno,” she said honestly.
Abigail finally glanced over, one brow raised.
Raelle stared out the front viewport where the hazy skies of Pelora IV loomed, golden and grimy. “She’s either gonna get us all killed, or she’s exactly what we need.”
“Comforting,” Abigail said dryly.
Raelle just smirked.
Abigail turned back to the controls and pressed a button on the panel. Her voice echoed through the ship’s comm system.
“Hold on, everyone—we’re moving.”
With a grace that Raelle would never publicly admit was better than her own, Abigail disengaged the clamps and gently maneuvered The Halcyon out of the docking ring. The ship shuddered once, then slipped free like a ghost escaping gravity.
The planet fell away beneath them.
And ahead—just stars.