The docking hub was alive with morning rhythm. Precise, efficient, and humming with controlled energy. The echo of hydraulic lifts, the whir of cargo drones, and the soft murmur of comms traffic filled the air. Light filtered down in pale gold through layered glass panels above, simulating early daylight across Ashen Prime's massive internal bay.
Personnel moved with practiced flow, engineers in slate-gray suits checked manifests, security officers stood in pairs at junction points, and other crews prepped their vessels for departure. Announcements buzzed from the overhead speakers, each clipped and clear.
Ethan moved toward the private dock with steady purpose, boots echoing against the grated floor.
As he stood in front of the Wraith, a soft click signaled that she had detected him.
"Iris," he said, without slowing.
Her voice came over the external comms, cool and composed.
"Welcome back, Captain. Defense grid disarmed."
The boarding ramp hissed down with a smooth motion, lights along the ship's underbelly flickering to life as if stretching awake. Warm yellow-white illumination spilled onto the hangar floor, drawing a path inward.
Ethan paused at the threshold, then stepped onto the ramp.
As he crossed into the ship, the door sealed shut behind him with a soft pneumatic sigh. The lights inside gradually rose from dim to full strength, triggered by his presence. Subtle hums and mechanical shifts passed through the hull, the Wraith acknowledging her captain's return.
He stood still for a long moment in the entry corridor. The ship smelled the same, faint metal, preserved fabric, old synthetic polish.
No dust. No signs of tampering. Everything was where it should be.
Ethan exhaled softly, then started down the corridor with measured steps. The familiar hum of systems under Iris's control pulsed faintly beneath his boots. He passed the training room first as he began his inspection.
Past that, the kitchenette came into view. The auto-cooker sat silently in standby, sleek and chrome-black, with a nearby dining area that offered just enough space for a quiet meal. Everything was clean, efficient, and warm in its own minimalist way.
He then briefly visited his sleeping quarters that looked clean and tidy. The compact but high-end compartments, memory foam bed, ambient lighting controls, and desk console linked directly to Iris seemed untouched.
Ethan ended his quiet walkthrough at the rear cargo bay. The automated lights flicked on as he stepped in, revealing the neatly secured crates stacked along the reinforced walls. A quick scan with his data pad pinged green, everything was accounted for. He moved closer to one of the matte-black containers from the weapons district, still sealed tight with biometric locks.
Inside: A slim lightweight body armor, a personal signal dampener, a custom survival module, EMP Gel Mines and a slimline laser pistol. Untouched. Safe. He gave a small nod, satisfied. Iris had kept everything exactly where it needed to be.
"Iris, report," he said, voice steady.
"Environmental controls stable," she responded. "Engines running at optimal levels. Weaponry and countermeasures fully operational. Cargo and supply logs verified. All diagnostics completed by maintenance drones at 0432 station time. No anomalies detected."
Ethan stopped at the main systems interface panel near the central spine of the ship. He ran his palm across the surface, smooth, slightly warm. His eyes scanned the feed Iris had listed, confirming each status point himself.
No discrepancies. No corrupt files. No signs of intrusion.
He gave a small nod. "Good. You handled things well."
"Of course, Captain."
The Wraith felt the same. That mattered.
He moved to the auto-cooker, tapped in a familiar sequence.
The machine gave a soft chime of acknowledgement. A warm, tangy scent filled the air moments later, citrus and mineral. Sharp. Bracing.
The floating mug slid from its heating chamber and hovered above the prep pad. A magnetic seal hissed around the base as it locked onto its circular tray. The tray hovered next to him, perfectly still despite the faint gravitational drift within the galley.
Ethan took the mug with one hand and sipped slowly. The taste was clean. Bittersweet. A brief connection to something outside military rations and sterile mission briefs.
Ritual. Not indulgence.
"Iris, has hangar control transmitted our departure clearance yet?"
"Not yet. However, the queue is short. Requesting final confirmation from you before submission."
Ethan gave another sip, set the mug back into the tray. "Submit it now. Let them know we're ready."
"Acknowledged. Request submitted. Estimated approval within six minutes."
He lingered there for another moment, eyes half-closed, letting the drink settle his nerves. Every captain had their preflight tick, some paced, some sharpened blades, some stared out the nearest viewport until engines flared. For Ethan, this was it. A pause. A taste.
Then movement.
He stepped out of the kitchen, mug tray trailing behind him like a silent attendant, and made his way toward the cockpit.
The corridor lights dimmed slightly as he moved forward, adjusting for nighttime conditions. Ahead, the cockpit door slid open with a quiet swish.
The captain's chair waited at the center of the command module, built to mold to his frame. He eased into it without ceremony, one hand guiding the mug tray into its dock beside the console.
"Iris," he said, settling into position. "Let's bring her to life."
"Initializing departure sequence," she replied.
The ship responded immediately. Subsystems activated one by one, registering across the main console in a silent cascade of green indicators. The low thrum of the engine core activated beneath him, shifting from idle to primed.
"Powering up the Wraith," Iris said. "Energy distribution nominal. Shields holding at standby levels. External temperature variance within safe parameters."
Ethan's hands moved over the navigation controls, bringing up the station's exit protocols.
"Align nav grid to vector eight-seven-point-two," he said.
"Confirmed," Iris replied. "Navigation grid aligned. Calculating flight path for departure corridor."
A moment later: "Traffic lane assigned. External clearance approved. Authorization granted. You are clear to depart."
He watched the viewport ahead as Ashen Prime's magnetic clamps released with a deep metallic click. The ship gave a subtle lurch, just enough to remind him they were free-floating now.
"Disengage clamps," Ethan said aloud, though Iris had already started the sequence.
"Docking clamps disengaged. All connections terminated. You are clear of Ashen Prime's gravitational tether."
The ship shifted forward. The docking hub receded. Then the outer structure of Ashen Prime Space station came into view, massive and intricate.
The Wraith turned slowly, aligning to the designated exit corridor marked by faint, blinking buoys.
The stars beyond glittered, scattered across a rich black expanse like scattered shards of crystal.
Ethan's fingers hovered over the ignition for just a second.
He took a final sip from the mug. Then:
"Engage forward thrust. Let's go."
The engines stirred. A controlled burst. The Wraith surged ahead, not with violence, but with purpose.
Behind him, Ashen Prime began to shrink in the viewport, its spires thinning, lights dimming against the velvet dark. The station curved downward, swallowed gradually by its own mass and the distance Ethan had long been craving.
He didn't look away.
He waited, watched, until only a single blinking light remained, far off, barely visible.
Then it was gone.
He leaned back in the chair and exhaled, gaze forward now.
Ashen Prime was behind him. The next destination, still ahead.
No fanfare. No final message. Just departure.
And within that, purpose.