Dim floodlights buzz overhead, some flickering as if searching for power. The air hangs damp and metallic.

  Rows of guards crouch behind cargo stacks, rifles braced—hands trembling.

  Lina stands behind a wall of crates.

  “We have you surrounded. Step out where we can see you.”

  Arthur stands tense, Sean tucked tight against Anna’s chest. Every muscle coiled, his voice calm steel.

  “What for? You’ve tried to take us head-on twice already. Didn’t work out either time.”

  “We’ve held back,” Thomas calls, keeping Lina in his sights. “Because we don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  The silence shifts. Guards adjust their grips. A few swallow hard.

  Lina’s voice cuts through it—firm, cold, absolute.

  “You’ve got ten seconds. After that, I seal this bay and vent you into the void.”

  Sarah’s voice edges through the tension.

  “And if we step out?”

  A beat.

  “Do you just space us anyway?”

  Silence answers. Fingers tighten on triggers.

  Lina considers, jaw ticking.

  “That depends on you.”

  Anna leans close to Arthur, whispering through clenched teeth.

  “We should fight our way out. Take the ship from the inside.”

  Arthur shakes his head.

  “With Sean in hand the whole way?”

  He looks at each of them.

  “If this goes wrong, we don’t get another chance.”

  He steps forward, voice steady—weighted.

  “We’re not pirates. We don’t want your ship, your people, or your food. We just want to take our child and leave. That’s it.”

  Lina’s face remains hard, etched by years.

  “We’ll talk about that when you come out.”

  Arthur raises his hands. The others follow.

  They step from cover together—Sean held where every guard can see him.

  “We’re coming out. Please—don’t fire. We have the baby.”

  A long stillness settles. Guards glance at one another, fingers trembling. Even the air feels brittle.

  Lina steps into view at last. Her eyes flick to Sean in Anna’s arms.

  For a heartbeat, something human softens her expression.

  Then it’s gone.

  “Secure the prisoners.”

  The family kneels. Guards bind their wrists behind their backs, holding them steady.

  Overhead, a yellow light sputters, buzzes, burns out—then flickers back to life.

  A woman steps forward and gently lifts Sean. His head settles into her shoulder. Her hands shake—not with fear, but care.

  Anna snaps toward her.

  “If you hurt him—!”

  The woman flinches.

  “I would never. I have a child of my own, miss.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Lina crosses the bay, boots echoing.

  Arthur meets her eyes—calm, unwavering.

  “So what now?” he asks. “Do you kill us?”

  Lina stops before them, expression unreadable.

  “Normally, we strip a pirate ship for parts, catalog whatever crimes you meant to commit… then space the crew when we’re done.”

  She circles slowly, measuring them like a judge weighing sentence.

  “Your ship hasn’t offered us much in the way of crimes yet.”

  Arthur exhales.

  “Like I said—we aren’t pirates.”

  Thomas leans forward, voice even.

  “We’d make good pirates, though.” A tired laugh slips out.

  “Kidding. We’ve had pirate trouble ourselves. Once or twice.”

  He shrugs.

  “In reality, it’s almost constant.”

  Anna lifts her chin despite the restraints.

  “Look at our ship yourself. Take anything you can use. If we meant you harm, you’d already know it.”

  Her voice sharpens.

  “We could have killed everyone in this room… and we didn’t.”

  Sarah shoots her a sharp look.

  “Not the time.”

  She turns to Lina, steadying her tone.

  “Sit us in a corner. Double-check us. When you’re satisfied, we’ll repair our ship and leave.”

  She lowers her gaze—then meets Lina’s eyes again.

  “No blood. No hard feelings.”

  Arthur raises his voice just enough to carry.

  “We’ll still drop the buoy—exactly like we said.”

  He scans the room.

  “A gate seeder will come. Within a year, your people could have land under their feet again.”

  A breath.

  “You don’t have to drift anymore.”

  Silence blankets the bay. Guards trade uneasy glances.

  Lina’s gaze returns to Sean. It lingers—softening again despite herself.

  “…We’ll see,” she says at last.

  “As a show of good faith… I’ll have a doctor brought down here.”

  She leans in toward Sarah.

  Suspicion ripples through the family.

  —

  Arthur blinks—

  —and he stands in the White Void beneath the canopy. Rain falls from the great sphere overhead in slow, rhythmic drops. The sound is endless—a clock marking captivity.

  One by one, the others appear.

  Anna paces in a tight circle.

  “Well… what now?”

  Thomas reaches for her hand, holding it.

  “We tell them we’re fine. No point wasting their medicine on us.”

  He looks to Arthur.

  “Right?”

  Arthur leans back, considering.

  “If you want my honest opinion?”

  He glances toward Sarah.

  “She likes Sarah.”

  He turns to the others.

  “Sarah can do the talking. She listens to her.”

  Sarah listens to the rain. Breath steady.

  She closes her eyes—then nods.

  Back in the real world, her head lifts, voice steady and calm.

  “We’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out on our account.”

  Lina’s eyes narrow.

  “Nonsense. I saw her take a round to the stomach.” She points at Anna. “Her shirt’s still stained with blood.”

  She hesitates.

  “Come to think of it… you all seem a little too alright.”

  Sarah doesn’t flinch.

  “The world has changed a lot since the A.R.C. left Earth.”

  She reaches for the most reasonable lie she can shape.

  “We’re ex-military. We’ll be fine.” A soft smile. “No reason to waste medicine or supplies on us.”

  Her voice softens—just slightly.

  “As long as the boy is safe… that’s all that matters.”

  Lina studies her. Not just listening—weighing.

  She steps around them in a slow circle.

  “Put them in that corner,” Lina says. “And watch them.”

  Within moments, the family sits cuffed and guarded.

  Somewhere deep in the ship, metal crashes—A.R.C. crew tearing more parts from the Mnemosyne.

  Sarah tilts her head toward Lina, voice light, casual—disarming.

  “Where are your ancestors from? I’m from Kansas.”

  Lina frowns.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It was a place on Earth. A long time ago.”

  Sarah smiles faintly. “Flat land. Endless sky. You could see storms coming for miles.”

  Lina relaxes a fraction, curiosity edging past suspicion.

  “Our families have been out here so long… we don’t speak of Earth.”

  She almost laughs. “Old fairy tales.”

  She leans back against a stack of crates.

  “Every marriage is arranged. Every role planned before you’re born. I was trained my whole life to lead this group.”

  Sarah nods slowly.

  “I understand.” She glances at Arthur with a small smile.

  “I spent most of my life—at least all I can remember—following a man around.”

  Lina scoffs.

  “Never do that.”

  Sarah keeps smiling.

  “Always doing things for us… more often than for me.”

  Arthur’s voice brushes her ear from the Void.

  “Hey.”

  Sarah smirks to herself, ignoring him.

  “So I know what you mean. Kind of.”

  Another loud crash echoes as scavenged panels hit the deck.

  Sarah doesn’t flinch. She leans into the sound.

  “I used to have a dog. Rex.”

  She smiles at the memory.

  “Every time something fell over in the house, he’d bark like he was saving the world.”

  A breath.

  “Sometimes I miss that dog.”

  Lina’s lips twitch—the faintest suggestion of a smile.

  “Who taught you all how to fight?” she asks. “You fight like we breathe.”

  Sarah’s voice stays calm. Steady. Never a threat.

  “It hasn’t always been this way. My husband was a watchmaker, once upon a time. But he and his brother joined the military… and everything changed.”

  She shrugs lightly.

  “We train every day on our ship.”

  A small laugh.

  “You probably noticed the gym equipment your people tossed to the deck a moment ago.”

  Lina studies her again—this time with something like respect.

  She’s seen the inconsistencies, but she believes enough of the picture to let the rest pass.

  A warning alarm shrieks across the Mnemosyne’s console.

  Arthur leans forward, eyes narrowing—panic flickering beneath his voice.

  “Lina—they’re coming for us. We need our ship. We need to go. Now.”

  A klaxon rolls through the vast chamber.

  A.R.C. crew freeze, unsettled.

  Sarah steps forward, urgent.

  “Lina—let us go. Please. We have to leave here now.”

  Lina freezes.

  A beat.

  Then she wheels toward her crew, sharp.

  “No time for that, young lady.”

  Her gaze flicks to the scattered pieces of the Mnemosyne.

  “Which one of you is gonna push?”

  The crew hesitate—breath held, eyes fixed on her.

  She turns fully.

  “Get these people into the general living sector. Now.”

  Arthur stops short.

  “Thank you.”

  Lina’s expression stays unreadable.

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  —

  In the A.R.C. command center, a wall of monitors hums.

  Relic consoles flicker with ancient, uneven light.

  Lina steps inside—composed, but pale.

  She toggles the comms.

  “A.R.C. to unidentified ship. Come in.”

  Silence stretches. Cold. Heavy.

  Static.

  Then a voice—cold, formal.

  “A.R.C., this is the Colonial ship Salford.”

  Lina cuts the channel. Waits. Then toggles it again.

  The voice returns, irritation sharpening.

  “A.R.C., you appear to be experiencing comm issues.”

  The static clears. The voice hardens.

  “We can’t help but notice the vessel on your dock clamp.”

  Lina steadies herself.

  “It’s a salvage operation.”

  “It belongs to fugitives of the State,” the voice declares.

  Lina’s eyes flicker—but her tone remains flat.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that. She was floating adrift. Still powered.”

  Her jaw tightens.

  “We’re just picking it up for salvage.”

  “Do most of your salvage operations dock directly into your clamp?”

  Lina swallows.

  “The ship was in good repair. We guided it in.”

  A pause.

  Static hums like pressure pushing against the room.

  “What kind of vessel is the A.R.C.?” the voice asks—now a threat disguised as a question.

  Lina snaps back.

  “Generational ship. 01-A.

  Total inhabitants: four thousand, six hundred fifty-four.”

  Another long beat of silence.

  Then—

  “Prepare to have us come aboard for inspection of this ‘salvage.’”

  The comm goes dead.

  Lina exhales quietly.

  “Of course.”

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