Captain Isolde Rook ejected from her burning ship just as the orbital mines detonated, her body spinning wildly in the vacuum. The last thing she saw before blackout was the neon-blue silhouette of the dreadnought Oblivion’s Maw carving through the debris field—and the traitor’s face flashing across her retinal HUD.
She woke in a med-bay three weeks later, her bronze skin grafted with synth-flesh where the radiation burns had been worst. The med-droid informed her she was the sole survivor of the Eventide Horizon. They’d found her adrift near the ruins of the Kepler-186f colony, clutching a data crystal in her ruined pressure suit.
Shadows in the Garden
The memory came in fragments. Six months earlier, Isolde had walked through the hydroponic gardens of Kepler-186f’s orbital habitat, her knee-high boots clicking against the glass walkways. She wore the standard navy uniform of the Commonwealth—a form-fitting black bodysuit with silver piping, the insignia of the Deep Reconnaissance Corps gleaming at her collar. The scent of genetically modified jasmine mixed with ozone from the air recyclers.
"You’re asking me to spy on my own government," she’d hissed to the figure in the shadows. The man from the separatist Cerberus Syndicate had smiled, his augmented eyes flickering with stolen data streams. "We’re offering you the truth about what really happened at Proxima Centauri."
The Burning of Proxima
Now, strapped to an interrogation chair in a black-site orbital facility, Isolde watched holograms of that truth unfold. The Commonwealth hadn’t lost the Proxima colony to a solar flare—they’d glassed it themselves. The dreadnoughts now massing at the edge of settled space weren’t here to protect humanity. They were harvesters.
"Why do you think we pushed so hard for warp-gate expansion?" The interrogator’s voice dripped with false sympathy. His uniform bore the same insignia she’d worn with pride. "The universe isn’t empty, Captain. It’s hungry."
Silent Running
Isolde’s escape involved a stolen maintenance skiff, two dead guards, and the coordinates burned into her cortex by a dead Cerberus operative. The skiff’s cockpit stank of sweat and ionized metal as she punched through the blockade, her hands dancing across stolen control interfaces. Somewhere in the dark between stars, the real war was waiting.
The last transmission from Kepler-186f played on loop in her neural feed: "They’re coming through the gates. God help us, they’re already—" Static. Then a sound no human throat could make.
The Eventide Horizon
Now the wreckage of her ship spun behind her, and the dreadnought’s shadow grew larger in her viewscreen. Isolde adjusted the plasma pistol strapped to her thigh—the same model Cerberus had given her in that jasmine-scented garden. The data crystal’s contents glowed in her palm: schematics for every Commonwealth warp gate in the Orion Arm.
Somewhere beyond the edge of known space, something ancient stirred. And Captain Isolde Rook intended to wake it.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: 10 YouTube Settings That Hurt Small Channels and Kill Your Growth
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
Post Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.