The crowd had fallen quiet. With no more pleading or offers of service, Silas said nothing. He simply turned away from the hangar doors.
He knew the truth as well as anyone: even A-Class credentials were rare here in Lunar Port. And as for S-Class certifications? Those were nearly mythical. The few that existed were tightly bound by exclusive contracts with the Solar Ascendancy, and the chance of meeting an unclaimed S-Class operator was like watching Mars collide with Earth.
Which meant only one thing—he'd be operating alone.
Silas waved them off without another word and stepped into the shadows of the Hyperion.
"Clear out. Looks like he's not recruiting after all."
"Can't blame him. The only people who hold S-Class licenses are already Ascendancy assets."
"He's an elite—three A-Class certifications. If you can fly that ship, why bring on dead weight?"
"Still… just being seen aboard that cruiser would give you bragging rights for life."
As murmurs faded, Silas activated the techband on his wrist. The Hyperion's main hatch sealed shut with a mechanical roar. He vanished inside, alone.
Or so he believed.
Unbeknownst to him, a lithe silhouette moved with feline precision across the airlock's outer rim. Silent as a whisper, the figure lunged forward just before the hatch sealed fully, slipping inside the Hyperion's pressurized hull unnoticed.
—
The interior of the Hyperion was breathtaking.
It wasn't just large—it was labyrinthine, designed for thousands, compartmentalized into armories, research sectors, hydroponic vaults, barracks, forges, and spire-level command halls. Entire wings of the vessel were staffed by Marvin-class synthetics, each programmed with subroutines tailored to specialized operations.
Silas wandered past robotics lines, pressure-sealed doors, and idle stations. Despite its age, the cruiser ran like an eternal engine. No dust. No decay. The vessel's systems were autonomous—upheld by protocols buried deep within its AI core.
Eventually, he reached the ship's lounge—a bar, softly lit, tucked beneath one of the lower observation decks.
The bartender unit, a Marvin variant with polished brass plating, activated upon proximity and began mixing a drink.
Silas took the offered glass with a nod and ascended toward the command bridge.
Here, glass panels arched across the ceiling, providing a view of the cosmos—Earth a pale blue relic below, and the deeper black of the Void stretching beyond.
He took a slow sip, smiling.
It begins.
The great ship was his now. And even if it ran on the reserves loaded by the system's initial grant, it wouldn't last forever. An S-Class cruiser was a beast to feed—energy, materials, crew operations. Without income, even the Hyperion would eventually fall silent.
Just then, the console chimed.
[Incoming Communication Request]
Silas raised a brow. Curious.
He tapped the console.
A voice he recognized came through.
"Silas. It's me—Lyra Caelis."
He raised an eyebrow.
Now what?
"I'm not calling to argue," she said. "I'd like to propose a temporary alliance."
There was a pause. She continued.
"You're aware, I assume, of the pirate flotillas roaming the outer system. They've been preying on outbound independent ships—ambushing jump-points, stealing cargo, and conscripting crews into unregistered labor camps."
"You're... asking me to help you scare off pirates?"
"No," Lyra replied. "I'm asking to form a fleet."
She sounded surprisingly pragmatic.
"If the Valkyrion and the Hyperion launch together, our combined presence will deter any ambush attempts. Pirates won't challenge a coordinated fleet with a capital-class warship at the head."
Silas leaned back in his command chair, swirling the drink.
He'd heard of the pirates. They operated like scavenger wolves—avoiding frontal confrontations, favoring ambushes and hit-and-fade tactics. The Solar Ascendancy did attempt crackdowns, but their fleets rarely stayed long, and the pirates always returned like mold after rain.
To most, pirates were a plague.
To Silas, they were an opportunity.
The Hyperion was powerful, yes—but it was also hungry. Its reactors needed fuel, its logistics bays needed stock, and its systems required exotic materials for long-term flight. His personal funds would be depleted within weeks.
But pirates?
Pirates had resources. Stolen cargo. Hidden caches. Weapons, tech, even crews.
More importantly—they weren't Ascendancy-protected.
If Silas wanted to establish himself as a true player in the Void of Space, he'd need a war chest. And the best way to build one fast... was to devour the predators already at the table.
He grinned.
"Let me guess, Lyra. You want to band together just long enough to break orbit—then everyone splits and runs their own course?"
"That's the safest way," she said. "Even an S-Class ship alone is a tempting target."
He let the silence hang.
Her request wasn't unreasonable. It was textbook frontier strategy—small ships grouped into convoys, traveling together until they cleared known danger zones.
But Silas had already decided.
"No."
There was a pause.
"…What?"
"I won't be joining your fleet," Silas said. "I have other plans."
He ended the transmission.
Then leaned forward and tapped a new interface.
[Initiate Tactical Overview]
[Target: Pirate Raiding Parties – Outer Solar Ring]
[Objective: Track. Intercept. Seize.]
The Hyperion's AI responded instantly, plotting telemetry routes and scanning for rogue vessel patterns.
Silas exhaled slowly.
While others were trying to avoid pirates, he was preparing to consume them.
They had plundered fleets, broken hopefuls, and raided the young and the weak.
He would now be the lesson the stars had forgotten.
And far behind him, somewhere in the bowels of the ship, a stowaway crept silently through the steel corridors—her movements careful, her presence undetected.
But not for long.