Captain Getz had lost confidence in the information reaching his bridge.

Reports arriving from sections across the ship contradicted displays. Nothing agreed. Security teams called out attackers in compartments the internal sensors reported empty. Crew members appeared in two places at once. Dead marines continued moving across the tactical display while living personnel vanished from it entirely.

“Forward pressure door is sealed,” Entebbe reported from the security station. “Team Four is holding the command junction.” The display told another story, reporting the junction had already fallen.

“Confirm through voice authentication,” Getz ordered. “No telemetry. No location tags.”

Entebbe switched channels. “Team Four, challenge response: Acheron.”

Static answered.

Then a voice came through, broken and faint. “Response… Styx.”

Entebbe looked toward Getz. “Voice match is ninety-three percent.”

“Ninety-three is not enough,” Getz said. “Keep the pressure door shut.” A warning symbol spread across the central tactical display.

“Arte’ is attempting a full security reset,” the systems officer reported. “She’s isolating corrupted networks.”

“Will that restore internal tracking?”

“It will shut down most of it.”

“Do it.”

The lights dimmed across the bridge.

Arte’s voice sounded from the overhead system. “Warning. Internal identity systems have been compromised. Automated access control is no longer reliable. Initiating compartmentalized security mode.”

Displays blinked out one after another. The detailed crew-position map vanished, replaced by a simplified schematic showing only pressure integrity, power, and atmosphere.

Then Arte’s voice broke into static. “Automated command functions suspended,” the systems officer said. “She has isolated herself from the ship network.”

“Arte’s offline!” Entebbe called.

Getz glowered at the dead displays. He looked toward the hatch leading to the operations center below the bridge. Without internal sensors, the lower command station offered their best chance to rebuild a reliable picture using direct departmental reports.

“Entebbe, you have the bridge.”

“Sir?”

“Hold this compartment. Manual controls only. No one comes through either hatch without visual confirmation.”

Getz took a headset from the command station and secured it over one ear “Get a security detail to Operations. I want runners from Engineering, Medical, and Damage Control. With the network down, we’ll assess the ship’s status by hand.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Getz moved toward the access hatch. The bridge crew continued working around him. The replacement weapons officer shifted the defensive batteries to independent local control. Commander Chin began organizing compartment reports through short-range wired channels. Entebbe issued challenge codes to the remaining security teams.

They were adapting, that was what trained crews did.

Getz descended through the hatch. Halfway down the ladder, he heard a sharp metallic strike beneath him—not from the operations compartment, but from inside the access trunk. He looked down and reached for his sidearm.

Too late.

A dark figure clung to the ladder below, one hand braced against the wall and the other holding a compact rifle. The attacker fired first ; needles ripped through Getz’s chest and shoulder. The impacts ripped his grip from the ladder, throwing him backward through the opening above, and he struck the bridge deck with a bang

“Contact at the hatch!” Entebbe shouted.

The attacker surged upward behind Getz’s body, but Entebbe fired before the man cleared the opening. His burst struck the magnetic field around the invader and scattered across the ceiling, though the force drove the attacker back down the ladder.

“Concentrate fire!” Entebbe ordered. “Same target!”

Three bridge officers turned their weapons on the hatch as the attacker attempted to climb through again. The combined barrage lit the distortion around him. The field flashed, buckled, and failed.

Needles punched through his suit, throwing him backward into the access trunk. A second invader fired from below. The systems officer spun away from her console and collapsed.

Entebbe moved beside the hatch, keeping out of the direct line of fire. “Seal it!”

Commander Yang struck the emergency control.

The hatch began to close, but a gloved hand caught the edge before it sealed. The mechanism strained as another attacker forced his rifle through the gap and fired blindly into the bridge. Needles tore through consoles, displays, and crew.

Entebbe fired at the exposed arm. The field distorted his first burst, but another bridge officer joined him. The attacker’s arm jerked back, blood spread across the suit. The hand disappeared, and the hatch slammed shut.

For one breath, the bridge was silent except for alarms and the wounded. Then the secondary entrance opened. The tactical display still identified the men entering as members of Team Four.

Their uniforms did not.

Three invaders swept through the doorway in coordinated formation, firing before anyone could challenge them. Yang pulled one of the wounded crew members behind the command console and returned fire. Entebbe shifted to support him. The replacement weapons officer fired from behind her station, concentrating on the lead attacker’s field. The distortion around him flashed.

Once. Twice. Then it collapsed.

The officer’s next burst struck him across the torso and drove him to the deck.

The second attacker threw a disc into the center of the bridge.

“Pulse device!” Entebbe shouted.

The disc discharged. Every unsecured display went black. The bridge lights failed. Weapons lost targeting assistance, ammunition counters, and authorized-user recognition.

The invaders’ equipment remained active, and needle fire flashed through the darkness. Yang was hit first.

The weapons officer fired toward the muzzle flashes and struck another attacker, but a return burst cut her down behind the station.

Entebbe emptied his rifle into the final figure. Several rounds bent aside, but enough struck the field to force the man backward.

Entebbe charged. He drove the rifle into the attacker’s helmet, knocked him against the bulkhead, and reached for the man’s sidearm.

The access hatch reopened behind him and a fresh burst tore across Entebbe’s back. He fell against the weapons station, one hand still locked around the attacker’s wrist as more invaders climbed onto the bridge. It ended seconds later.

A broad-shouldered man in a sealed pressure suit stepped over Getz’s body and surveyed the compartment. Smoke drifted above the consoles. Blood streaked the deck. One of his men lay dead near the command station, another at the base of the hatch.

“Secure both entrances,” he ordered. “Confirm every body.”

Two invaders moved through the bridge, firing single needles into anyone who still showed movement.

The leader pulled off his helmet, revealing close-cropped hair graying at the temples. A pale scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his jaw, and he looked around the bridge with the familiarity of a man returning to a place he knew well.

“Chen!” he called.

A smaller man carrying a reinforced metal case climbed through the access hatch. Chen moved awkwardly in the pressure suit, struggling to balance the case while stepping around the body lodged against the ladder. His boot slipped on the blood-slick edge of the opening, and he nearly fell before catching himself on the deck.

The larger man watched with open impatience.

Chen never released the case. He dragged it to the weapons station and shoved Entebbe’s body aside. The security officer fell heavily to the deck as Chen placed the case on the console and opened it.

Inside was a compact computer surrounded by coiled leads, modular connectors, and several improvised interface blocks. He pulled off his gloves and helmet, breathing hard, then began connecting the equipment to the exposed access ports beneath the weapons controls.

The larger man moved to the command station. Captain Getz’s blood remained across part of the display. “How long, Chen?”

“A few minutes for basic control,” Chen answered without looking up. “Longer for propulsion and secured systems.”

“You said your equipment could crack the ship.”

“It can. That does not mean the ship has stopped resisting.”

The man smiled faintly. “I’m glad to see the Concordat still builds something properly.” He activated his headset. “All teams, report.”

Voices answered in sequence, calling out their progress securing key areas of the ship. The crew of Artemis had put up a fight worthy of how he remembered them. Varna felt a twist of pride, almost loss, then a question called him back to the moment.

“Where do you want the prisoners?” someone asked over the channel.

The man looked down at Getz’s body. “I do not want prisoners,” he answered, as though surprised the question needed to be asked.

Around him, the surviving invaders removed their helmets and began taking positions at the bridge stations.

“Captain Varna,” one of them called from Sensors, “the two Concordat starfighters are still circling the ship.”

Varna turned toward the command console. “Range?”

“Inside the defensive perimeter. They’re requesting status confirmation.”

“Can they see what happened aboard?”

“Not without a direct feed.”

“Good. Mark them hostile in the identification system.”

The sensor operator entered the command. “The system is requesting command authorization.”

“Use VARNA-179.”

Chen looked up from the weapons station.

“A redundancy I added in case of ‘reassignment,’” Varna said with a thin smile.

The sensor operator watched the display. “Code accepted.”

The indicators representing the fighters changed from green to red. Outside the hull, Artemis’s defensive batteries rotated toward them.

“They should have revoked everything tied to you,” Chen sneered as he returned to the interface case.

“They revoked the codes they knew about.”

A voice sounded through the bridge speakers. “Artemis, Flight One. Your identification grid just marked us hostile. Confirm system fault.”

Varna looked toward Chen. “Hurry, Mr. Chen. We don’t want them becoming suspicious enough to leave.”

“I have partial weapons control.”

“Partial?”

“Defensive batteries and local targeting. The primary Gauss system is still locked.”

“That will be enough.”

The pilots transmitted again. “Artemis, respond. We are moving outside the defensive envelope.”

Varna’s expression hardened. “Fire.”

The beam batteries discharged. The first fighter vanished in a flash of expanding debris. The second pilot broke away immediately, accelerating hard across the ship’s bow. The defensive grid tracked the maneuver and fired again. The fighter rolled through the first volley.

“Pilot is evading,” the sensor operator warned.

Varna watched the display intently. “He’ll turn toward the freighter to use it as cover.”

The fighter altered course exactly as Varna predicted. The next beam struck through its engine section. The craft tumbled once before its remaining fuel ignited. Two fading clouds of wreckage drifted beyond the hull. Varna watched them disappear from the display.

“Excellent work, Mr. Chen.”

Chen did not look pleased.

“Now give me propulsion.”

“I’ll need access through Engineering. Their local controls are isolated.”

“Then open a path for our people.”

“I am working on it.”

“The sooner we move, the harder we will be to find.” Varna rested his hands on the command console. “Then the real fun can begin.”

“This is not fun,” Chen snapped. “We have a mission to fulfill.”

“And your people have paid enough to have it fulfilled.”

“This operation was not intended to become a massacre.”

Varna looked around the bridge. “It was always going to be a massacre.”

Chen glared at him, then returned to the computer. “I’ll focus on Engineering next. Once we have propulsion, I can begin opening the remaining secure systems. Full control will take an hour. Possibly two.”

“Will that include the ordnance controls?”

“Yes.”

Varna’s attention sharpened.

“But you will not receive those codes,” Chen added. “The warheads remain under my control until the mission is complete.”

Varna held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged and turned back toward the command station. Chen resumed working. Varna smiled where the smaller man could not see it. There were many things aboard Artemis he did not need Chen’s permission to use.

Far below the bridge, the discharge of the defensive batteries rolled through the bulkheads. Phillip felt the rising whine first, followed by a sharp snapping vibration that repeated several times through the deck.

“What’s that?”

“The defensive lasers,” Thomas said.

The sound came again, then stopped. Phillip adjusted Thomas’s weight across his shoulders. “What just happened?”

“We launched two fighters when we approached the freighter.” Thomas’s breathing had become shallow. “If the batteries fired, the pirates probably have the bridge.”

Phillip looked behind them. The corridor was empty, but he could hear movement somewhere beyond the previous junction. Boots against the deck. Equipment striking walls. The attackers were still following.

“That last turn bought us some time,” he said. “Not much.” He tightened his grip beneath Thomas’s uninjured arm. “Is there a way off this ship?”

“Escape pods.”

“Where?”

Thomas raised his head and nodded weakly toward the corridor ahead. Phillip half-carried, half-dragged him onward. The sounds behind them grew clearer. Their pursuers were no longer searching. They knew which direction Phillip and Thomas had taken. A yellow-and-black-striped hatch appeared along the wall. Phillip stopped beside it.

“This?”

Thomas squinted at the markings. “Yes.”

Phillip reached for the control.

“If they have the bridge…” Thomas said. His knees buckled. Phillip caught him and eased him against the wall.

“What?”

“They’ll shoot the pods.”

Thomas lost consciousness. His weight settled heavily against Phillip’s arm. The pursuing footsteps were getting closer. Phillip looked at Thomas, then at the escape-pod controls, then down the corridor.

He pulled open the emergency panel. The controls inside were unfamiliar, but the symbols beside them suggested sequence and release. One row indicated occupied status. All four pods were empty. Phillip entered the first launch command. The hatch seal released with a hiss. A heavy vibration traveled through the hull as the pod fired away from Artemis.

He launched the second, then the third, then the fourth.

Each departure produced the same sequence: locks releasing, launch system engaging, pod separating into space. Phillip closed the control panel and dragged Thomas farther down the corridor, around the next turn and into the shadow of a recessed equipment bay. He lowered him to the deck and crouched beside him.

Footsteps approached. Two suited attackers entered the escape-pod passage. They slowed at the sight of the open launch indicators. One looked toward the empty bays. “The idiots launched.”

“They must not know we control the guns.”

The first man keyed his headset. “Varna, two crewmen reached the escape pods. Four launched.”

He listened as a low whine passed through the ship as the defensive batteries came online again, and then fired four or five bursts.

The attacker looked toward his companion. “Handled.”

They turned and moved back down the corridor, no longer searching for the fugitives they believed they had killed.

Farther along the passage, Phillip remained motionless beside Thomas. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps.

Only then did he breathe again.

Next Chapter: VII