The stars shimmered faintly beyond the Obsidian Wraith's cockpit, a frozen ocean of light scattered across the black tapestry of space. But this was no void. The Aldaron Sector stretched across thousands of light-years, a dense weave of stars, moons, space stations, gas giants, relay paths, and terraformed colonies nestled between resource-rich belts and half-forgotten exploration zones.
It was quiet in this corridor of space, but the silence was deceptive. Aldaron, like all galactic sectors of the Orion Federation, was massive, layered with infrastructure, history, and shadow. Numerous galactic systems, each home to multiple orbital habitats and planets, made up this outer sector.
From mineral processing yards drifting between asteroids, to domed research labs orbiting neutron stars, the sector pulsed with life beneath its still exterior.
Yet here, in this drift lane between major systems, a loosely patrolled artery threading through outer asteroid fields, there was no chatter, no beacons, no patrol echoes. Just the hum of the Wraith's quiet systems, the whisper of star-flecked distance, and a single faint distress call pulsing into the dark.
A soft tone chimed from the control console, subtle but insistent.
"Iris?" Ethan asked, leaning forward in his chair. His eyes were half-lidded from routine, fingers resting near the manual throttle as the Wraith cruised through the darkness at FTL speed. They had left the Beltrax Sector and were on their way through Aldaron.
Her voice came through, calm but edged with protocol tension. "Unidentified signal detected. Short-band distress beacon, looping continuously. Estimated origin: 0.33 light-minutes off our current trajectory. Emission time: 89 standard hours."
Ethan blinked. "That old?"
"Affirmative. Broadcast is weak. Fragmented. Initial decryption shows deteriorating life support markers and a corrupted ship ID string."
Ethan exhaled and let the silence build.
He tapped the console, bringing up the signal overlay. On the star map, a faint yellow pulsing icon flared near a broken asteroid belt. A scatter of low-density rocks hanging in space like frozen dust. Just beyond it: the source of the beacon.
"Iris… any signs of movement around the target?"
"None within local scan range. However, I advise caution. This pattern resembles at least twelve confirmed piracy tactics registered in the Federation's Outer Sector security reports over the last three cycles. Derelict vessels are often used as bait in deep drift zones."
Ethan nodded slowly. "Ghost bait."
"Correct," Iris confirmed. "Most commonly staged by sub-cluster pirate syndicates or freelance opportunists seeking to disable curious vessels and loot them after ambush."
He leaned back and rubbed a hand across his jaw. The logical part of him already had the answer: bypass it. Stay the course. Stick to the plan. Every hour spent here was another delay on his four-month journey to the Caryth Sector and gaining his C-Rank promotion.
But the signal kept pulsing. Weak. Barely there. Almost ashamed to still exist.
He stared at it, and after a few seconds, the starlight seemed to blur. Shadows pulling something forward in his memory.
A twin sun-bleached ridge. Heat rippling off broken rock. A wheezing truck moving through the expansive desert..
Kynara.
He could still smell the rust and sand. The slow creak of bones as dehydration set in. And beside him, laughing even through the hell of it all, was his late friend Dax.
"Think this is the dumbest thing we've ever done?" Dax had asked, pressing his back to a rock outcrop while reloading his rifle.
"We've only known each other a month," Ethan had grunted.
"Give it time."
They had failed their contract. The payload was left behind after Dax convinced him to abandon it. But they got the refugees to the outpost. Three days of running. Four skirmishes. One busted ankle. A dozen fewer bandits in the desert when it was over. It was his one and only failed mission as a mercenary, but those people lived and that was the most important.
Ethan blinked back to the present, breath colder now.
"Alright," he murmured.
"Iris?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Drop us out of FTL. Full stop. Lock heading to the signal's origin. But activate passive EM shields and switch us to quiet profile. I don't want to shout that we're coming."
"Understood. Initiating deceleration sequence and vector lock. Transition to sublight will be complete in thirty seconds."
The stars slowed.
The engine hum shifted into a lower, throatier purr as the Obsidian Wraith eased out of faster-than-light velocity and settled into a glide toward the derelict signal source.
Ethan slid from his seat and moved to the weapon locker near the cockpit's rear wall. His eyes swept across the neatly organized racks, Gel Mines, signal dampener, thermal dagger. He selected his slimline laser pistol and holstered it to his hip.
"Iris, any update on life signs?"
There was a moment's pause, not hesitation, but the measured beat of a hyper-intelligent system parsing fragmented data through multiple filters.
"Faint oxygen residue within a localized zone aboard the vessel," Iris replied, her voice as calm and precise as ever. "No biosigns currently detected. The signal loop is automated. Possible remaining stasis pod or deep cryo unit. Hull breaches in three locations. Internal atmosphere unstable but not fully vented."
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
He stood in the center of the cockpit, arms loosely folded, eyes narrowed at the faint blinking signal on the forward display. The kind of red that wasn't urgent… but persistent. A whisper in the dark rather than a scream.
He slowly adjusted his collar, the motion quiet but deliberate, as if bracing himself for something just out of sight. A shiver of old instinct ran down his spine, not fear, but the familiar edge of pre-contact awareness. The moment before the moment.
"We'll check it," he said at last, voice low and certain. "But we stay sharp."
"Acknowledged," Iris responded instantly. "Initiating approach. Power levels steady. External sensors in full active sweep."
The Obsidian Wraith altered course gently, angling its sleek black frame toward the origin of the signal. The ship's sublight drives engaged with only a faint shift in engine pitch, a subtle realignment of mass and intent. No sudden movements. Just a predator gliding toward uncertain prey.
Beyond the reinforced viewport, the derelict came into view. Dim at first, a distant glint against the starfield. Then closer. Defined.
A sleek, angular utility craft drifted ahead. Modest in size, no larger than a mid-class courier vessel. Its frame bore the subtle hallmarks of military-grade design: reinforced bulkhead plating, hardened sensor arrays tucked behind armored ridges, and thruster pods built for high-speed transit rather than endurance.
The outer hull was scored and darkened by debris impacts, but the damage looked recent. Controlled breaches, not the aimless corrosion of time. Its structure remained mostly intact, save for one wing panel listing slightly where a guidance fin had sheared off.
There were no visible insignias. No ID tags blinking on its hull.
But its geometry was clean, intentional, designed not for cargo, but for speed, discretion, and survivability.
The beacon light blinked again, soft, red, slow. Like a heart that had forgotten its rhythm. One that might stop at any second.
Ethan stepped forward, gloved hands resting lightly on the console's edge. His gaze locked on the drifting vessel, trying to pierce the distance with more than just his eyes. The shape of it. The silence around it. The unanswered signal.
It looked like a ghost.
Iris broke the silence again. "Shall I initiate a remote scan for system integrity? Or prepare a drone flyby for interior visual?"
He considered that for a moment.
"No drone. Not yet. Just take us closer. 500-meter hover. Passive mode."
"Understood. Adjusting course. Time to position: ninety-three seconds."
He nodded absently, never taking his eyes off the drifting vessel ahead
He pulled back, breathing once, slow and steady. The cockpit's lights dimmed slightly as the Wraith went into silent operational mode, reducing its profile. No pings. No emissions beyond essential systems. A ghost approaching a ghost.
The derelict spun a little more as they neared, like it was turning its wounded face toward them. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Just… waiting.
Ethan's jaw tightened. His fingers brushed the hilt of the Astral Slayer at his side. A habitual check, more than anything else.
Whatever was aboard that ship, if anything at all, he'd be ready.