—[PLANETARY FILE: NHOROS]—
Designation: MW-882-N (Union Code: "Nhoros")
Class: Mining World
Sector: Delta-91, Far Northeastern Fringe
Zone: F.C.Z. (Frontier-Controlled Zone)
Governance: United Federation Union – CoreDex Resource Consortium(state-owned)
Environment: Sub-arctic, glacial tundra, alpine ranges
Rotation Time: 31.6 hours
Surface Temperature: -37°C average
Status: Medium-value asset – active mineral excavation, strategic frontier location
Security: Elevated – presence of U.F.S.C. void patrols, planetary defense grid, orbital checkpoint active
Threat Index: Yellow (Minor Local Unrest)
"Your IDs are flagged for customs review. Remain in holding orbit until clearance is granted."
—U.F.S.C. Orbital Checkpoint, Nhoros Control
The cold light of a distant blue star shimmered off the hull of the Gravedancer, a modified freighter-class voidship with irregular panels and old Union-grade armor plating fused onto its portside. The ship coasted in low orbit above Nhoros, its engines silent but warm, like a beast biding its time.
Inside the cockpit, Cain Voss leaned forward, watching the comms screen flash with static flickers and bureaucracy.
"'Flagged for customs review,' my ass," he muttered, flicking a worn stim-tab into his mouth. His voice was gravel scarred by years of dry atmospheres and dirt-world battlefields.
"Technically accurate," chimed Rook, seated behind him at the secondary console. The droid's tone was smooth, synthetic, and perfectly calibrated for dry sarcasm. "You did submit a falsified identification under the alias Captain Tavik Mordane, wanted for extortion in four systems."
"Broker said it was clean."
"The broker also had a tooth made of jet engine scrap. His credibility was statistically suspect."
Cain grunted and shifted in his seat. Across the cockpit, Kei'la spun in her pilot's chair, birdlike feathers along her arms catching stray cabin light.
Her eyes, wide and reflective, tracked the growing orbital defense grid on the HUD.
"Two Union patrol cutters just pinged us. We're clear on the transponder spoof, but they're scanning deep," she said. "Give it another five minutes and we're gonna get the kind of attention we don't want."
A low chitter came from behind. Threx, the mantisoid gunner, loomed over the comms panel with his folded arms twitching slightly, long blade-like forearms retracted. His voice clicked and buzzed through the ship's translator node.
"Request reauthorization. Pretend to be lost cargo haulers again."
Rook's optics dimmed slightly. "Brilliant. I'm sure the Union will happily let smugglers with mismatched voidcode drift over a military mine world."
Cain rolled his neck. "We'll bluff it one last time. Reroute the power signature to mimic industrial hauler sub-type and tag us as a CoreDex logistics wing. Push the signal through the broker's bypass key."
Kei'la gave him a sideways look. "You're lucky I don't charge per miracle."
[THREE MINUTES LATER]
A brief buzz. Then a Ping:
"CoreDex Logistics-7F4, you are cleared for descent. Proceed to landing corridor 2A. Welcome to Nhoros."
Cain cracked a rare grin. "See? Smooth."
"I give us two days before they realize that transponder belongs to a garbage hauler that exploded last cycle over Amneris," said Rook. "Shall I begin calculating routes for an emergency extraction?"
Sector 4B, Nhoros
The Gravedancer tore through the upper troposphere like a wounded bird, the hull groaning as temperature and pressure surged. The world below was a tapestry of ashen grays and endless whitesmountain ridges like skeletal hands, valleys swallowed in swirling fog, and distant dots of industrial light clustered like fungi on scarred rock.
"Atmosphere's denser than last readout," Kei'la muttered, fighting the turbulence. "Winds are pushing up from the west. Blizzard's coming."
Cain peered through the viewport. Below, the city of Harrowspire emerged from the veil of storm a central megacity built around a fractured mountain spine, CoreDex towers like iron teeth rising from craters. Drilling rigs and ore refineries blinked with red hazard lights across its jagged edge. Military blockades and rail lines crawled across the outskirts like veins.
They approached the planetary checkpoint, a low-flying fortress of gunmetal towers and high-watt signal jammers. A trio of Union skiffs hovered nearby.
"Gravedancer, maintain flight vector. Drop speed. Prepare for scan."
—Checkpoint Authority, voice modulated.
Cain gave a subtle nod to Rook, who flicked the ID masking into second-phase deception—embedding fabricated union codes deep into their signal package.
The scan came. Cold. Slow. Precise.
No alarm. No signal trip.
"Clearance granted. Welcome to Nhoros, Logistics-7F4. Maintain course."
Kei'la let out a low whistle. "Either they're lazy, or that broker was better than he looked."
"Let's hope it's both," Cain replied. "Now take us in low. I want to disappear fast."
Industrial Subzone D12
The landing zone was little more than a snow-blown slab surrounded by stacked containers and rusted hauler units. A lonely beacon flashed green through the thick snow.
As the Gravedancer touched down, the ramp hissed open. Icy wind howled in, biting and dry.
Cain stepped down first. His breath clouded in the cold. Behind him, the rest of the crew emerged Kei'la in her feather-lined coat, Threx already twitching from the ambient chill, and Rook...
0 unaffected as always, his eyes scanning every visible signal.
"Subzone D12," Cain said. "Broker said our contact would be watching."
No sooner had he spoken than a sharp whistle echoed through the wind. From behind a container stack, a hooded figure stepped out. Small, lean, wrapped in industrial gray. He motioned once, then dropped into a narrow access hatch leading below the snow-choked surface.
Kei'la raised an eyebrow. "Charming."
Cain followed without hesitation. One by one, the crew descended into the underbelly of Harrowspire.
The Under-City – Access Level Gamma-5
The tunnels were damp and old sewage and condensation dripping from steel piping. Graffiti covered the walls: forgotten resistance tags, union propaganda overpainted with slashes of red.
They followed their guide for twenty silent minutes, weaving through service corridors, crawlspaces, and access shafts.
Eventually, the tunnel opened to a wide drainage hall with flickering lights and distant steam pipes hissing like serpents. At its far end stood a woman in a thick coat, arms crossed, a rifle slung over her back.
Darela Vens.
"I'll be damned," she muttered as they approached. "You're uglier than the broker described."
Cain grinned. "Better than being deader than he warned."
She stepped forward, eyes flitting between the crew.
"You're late."
"Checkpoints. Blizzards. Bureaucracy."
"Excuses," she said flatly. "You ready to make some credits?"
"Depends," Cain said. "You ready to give us a job worth the trouble?"
Her smile was brief and sharp. "You'll want to hear this one."
—[INTERNAL RECORD: REBEL CONTACT – DARELA VENS]—
Name: Darela Vens
Origin: Native to Nhoros (Ethic Group: Kalanthic)
Age: 48 cycles
Affiliation: Independent Cell – [UNREGISTERED]
Status: Fugitive – UFU Watchlist Tier 3
Known Activity: Sabotage, Civil Instigation, Assault on CoreDex Convoys
Last Known Location: Subzone G, South Ridge Corridor
The room stank of rust and coolant.
The crew stood in what might've once been an underground utility station low ceiling, flickering lights, stained Union metal barely holding together.
A large table sat in the center, covered in holo-maps, static-ridden survey pads, and scattered bullet casings. One wall bore a cloth banner, torn and faded: a symbol of a winged flame pierced by three arrows the insignia of a long-defeated rebellion.
Darela Vens stood beside the table, her fingers drumming across an old holoscreen console. The other rebels four of them stood nearby. Weathered faces, patchwork armor, and eyes that had seen too many winters.
"You got names?" Darela asked without looking up.
Cain stepped forward. "Cain Voss. That's Kei'la, Threx, and the charming little tin can is Rook."
"I resent that classification," Rook said. "I am a fully sentient, post-combat medical and support platform with civilian liberation status."
"I call him Rook so he doesn't get shot on sight," Cain added.
Darela gave a low chuckle and tapped a button. A flickering holo-map lit up over the table, displaying the central spine of Northern Ridge Line Theta a serpentine mountain chain with a deep rail path etched along its spine.
"This is the target," she said. "Union armored train, Hammerhead-class. Code designation: Steel Morrow. Moves once every eight days from Depot Gamma to Relay Bastion 12, carrying classified priority goods to the outer garrisons. They use a storm path for cover blizzard scheduled by Union climate satellites, standard practice."
Rook tilted his head. "Climate-controlled blizzards. How delightfully of them."
She ignored him. "Train has fifteen cars. We only care about three cargo containers 6, 7, and 8. High-density sealed vaults. Our informant pulled partial manifests."
She handed Cain a rusted datapad. He skimmed it. Fusion cartridges, first-wave triage medkits, Mark-VI pulse repeaters, field rations, sealed cryo-containers, and six sealed crates labeled only by numeric code.
"Black ops gear?" Kei'la asked.
"Or surplus they don't want tracked," Darela replied. "Either way, it's worth thousands of credits millions, if we part it out right."
"And you're giving this to us?" Cain said, eyeing her carefully.
Darela leaned against the table. "We can't hit it alone. I've got a few fighters and a snowcrawler. That's it. You've got a ship, a sniper, heavy muscle, and a droid with legally questionable creativity."
Rook's photoreceptors narrowed. "I have been called worse by Union high command."
Threx stepped forward and pointed to the ridgeline. "Too narrow for direct assault. Aircraft coverage?"
"Five gunships," Darela said. "Model HX-79 Raptors. Fast, armored. Each carries twin-linked autocannons and missile pods."
Cain frowned. "We'll need to neutralize those before anything else. Once those birds get airborne, it's over."
"We've got one shot," Darela continued. "The storm will hit hard at 0700 local. Union uses that as signal cover. You'll hit them during that window visibility drops to fifty meters, wind sheer'll knock out most comms. That gives us a fifteen-minute breach window."
Rook walked to the map and tapped the ridge section with a data spike. "Here. Two kilometers of tight cliffside run. Perfect for a boarding run from the flank. Dangerous, but manageable with our ship's clamp line."
Kei'la arched a brow. "You want me to fly through a mountain blizzard at full speed next to a moving train?"
Rook cocked his head. "If anyone can do it, it's the bird."
"I'm a hawk-crested faunasian, thank you very much." Threx chittered and crossed his arms. "I kill. You fly. Droid mocks. Cain worries. This works."
Cain rubbed his eyes. "Alright. What do you need from us, Darela?"
Darela handed out small encrypted nodes.
"These are local codes to jam Union comms in the region for exactly 14 minutes. Plant them at the following three signal towers before the storm hits. I'll send coordinates."
Kei'la inspected hers. "These'll get noticed."
"They won't if you plant them during a tower shift cycle," Darela said. "That's between 02:15 and 02:30 local. Each tower is 20 clicks from here. You'll need speed bikes we've got two. You'll have to double up."
Cain nodded. "I'll take Threx. Kei'la and Rook?"
The droid shrugged. "I do not require seating comfort, merely structural stability. Strap me to the back and I'll whistle."
Darela kept talking. "Once the jammers are up, and the storm's coming, your sniper takes position on this bluff." She highlighted a ridge 700 meters above the rail. "You'll have line of sight for four seconds per pass. Use them wisely."
"I'll need a rifle that hits like a tank shell," Kei'la said.
"You'll get a stolen Pryxan LR-7, Union anti-material grade. One shot'll take out a gunship engine, assuming you can hit the vent."
She smiled. "I always hit the vent."
Cain turned toward Darela again. "And your part?"
"We'll use our crawler to deploy det-charges on the outer tracks to force the train to tilt. Not derail, just slow down enough. Your ship clamps the vault cars, cuts the connector lines, pulls them free, and we drag them to my fallback base up north."
Cain paced the room, processing. "Contingencies?"
"There's always contingencies," Darela said. "You screw up, we get killed. We screw up, you get blamed and killed. Welcome to the frontier."
Evening: Pre-Mission
Later that night, the crew sat around a burned-out thermal coil in one of the abandoned hab units. Snow drifted through the cracks. Outside, the wind howled like a dying beast.
Cain checked his weapon: a disassembled U.F. "Wyvern" smart-rifle. He reattached the magnetic slide and loaded a cold-core cartridge.
"You trust her?" Kei'la asked, wiping frost from her feathers.
"I trust the payout," Cain replied.
Rook stood near the door, watching snow filter in. "Probability of betrayal from Darela's team is twenty-nine percent. Probability of Union retaliation is one hundred."
" Quite reassuring," Kei'la said.
Threx sat sharpening one of his forearm blades on a shard of wall plating. "I prefer this. Cold world. Clear rules. Hit or be hit."
Cain looked around the circle. "If this goes wrong, we're ghosts. Union doesn't care about charges in the frontier. They just make examples. So we do this clean, fast, and brutal. No hesitation."
Rook chimed in. "I have recalibrated my restraint protocols to allow for full-field trauma response. You may proceed with reckless violence."
Kei'la snorted.
Cain finished assembling his rifle and clicked the seal shut. "Well then," he said. "Lets give them a show."
—[U.F.S.C. PRIORITY LOG – HAMMERHEAD ESCORT MISSION ALPHA-776]—
Command Officer: Lt. Colryn Jace
Unit: 442nd Union Trooper Battalion, 2nd Transit Guard Division
Location: Forward Depot Gamma, Nhoros
Objective: Secure and transport cargo aboard Hammerhead-class armored train "Steel Morrow" to Relay Bastion 12
Estimated Departure: 0700 local
Escort Assets: 5 HX-79 Raptor Gunships, 48 Union Troopers, 4 Engine Staff, 2 Command Operators
Cargo Classification: Level-2 Confidential – MedTech, Fusion Cells, Classified Equipment
Threat Status: Yellow. Minor rebel activity. Blizzard classified as natural obstruction.
The snow was falling hard at Depot Gamma, but the Union never paused for weather.
Storm or not, the cargo had to move.
Lieutenant Colryn Jace stood on the command platform inside the depot's control spire, gazing out over the rail yard through a reinforced plasteel viewport. Below him, the Steel Morrow sat idle fifteen-car armored colossus, matte black plating sheened with frost and sigilized with Union codes.
On either side, maintenance crews buzzed around it like insects: welding, checking clamps, loading crates through mechanical lifts.
"All cargo cars greenlighted?" he asked over his vocoder, voice crisp and filtered.
"Affirmative," came the response. "Vault Cars 6, 7, and 8 sealed. Cryo-units stable. Reactor cores synchronized."
He nodded. "And the birds?"
The camera feed to the east hangar flickered five HX-79 Raptor gunships sat aligned on heated pads, their turbines humming low. Engineers moved between them with checklists in hand, loading ammunition racks and fuel canisters. Pilots walked across the pad in formation, helmets under their arms.
Jace's aide, a young specialist named Merin, stood at his side holding a datapad. "Storm readings confirm crosswind gusts reaching 90 knots at peak," she said. "But it's still within tolerance for escort flight."
"Good," Jace said. "This world always finds a way to complain."
Down in the cargo bay, Union Troopers moved like clockwork. Clad in white-gray armor, reinforced for winter conflict zones, they carried heavy carbines and plasma rifles, visors glowing faintly behind vocoded masks. Inside the train's troop cars, they secured crash webbing, ran tactical drills, and synced comms channels.
In Vault Car 6, two specialists monitored the biometric locks on the sealed crates.
"This one's tagged with off-world priority," said one, nodding at a crate marked only with a red triangle.
"Black ops?" his partner asked.
"Classified. Don't ask."
They kept working. Union didn't reward curiosity.
At the forward engine car, a grizzled operator named Grans Vett was cursing at a jammed coolant valve while an engineer knelt beside him.
"Higher ups wants us to drive a Hammerhead through a fucking avalanche again," he grunted. "They never give us storm delays. Not once."
"That's what the armor's for," the younger tech muttered.
"Armor doesn't mean jack shit when you're riding the edge of a goddamn cliff," Vett snapped. "One wrong drift and this whole line's a coffin."
But still, he worked. Everyone in the Union did.
In the eastern hangar, Gunship Team Lead Ava Sorrin locked her helmet into place and swung herself into the cockpit of Raptor One.
"Check systems," she barked.
"Engines green. Targeting synced. Countermeasure pods live," her copilot replied.
"Visual telemetry?"
"Stable for now. It'll cut bad in three hours once the ice winds roll in."
Sorrin cracked her knuckles, staring out at the storm wall creeping in. "I hate this fucking planet."
At 06:47 local, the command tower issued final clearance.
The Steel Morrow's primary horn echoed through the depot a thunderous, metallic wail that vibrated through the mountains like a war cry.
Inside the engine car, Grans Vett pulled the main ignition lever. The engine roared to life with a deep, vibrating growl, magnetic coils spinning, fusion cells humming low.
Fifteen armored cars groaned as magnetic couplings clicked into sync. Rail clamps disengaged. The signal tower flashed green.
Above the train, five Raptor gunships lifted off into the snow, forming a loose diamond formation. Their engines split the stormclouds as they moved into escort pattern.
From his command spire, Lt. Jace watched with folded arms. "Comm to Bastion 12 sent," Merin said. "Train is off schedule by three minutes."
"Acceptable," he replied. "Begin uplink sync every five minutes. I want status checks and thermal scans. Storm interference or not."
"Acknowledged."
He stepped back from the window and looked at the projection board a clean green line tracing the train's route across the mountain ridge.
"Let's see if anything dares," he said quietly.
In the troop cars, Union soldiers sat shoulder to shoulder in tight formation. The train's inner lights flickered with low red alert glows. The snow howled outside like a starving beast, but inside the train, everything was cold precision.
Private Yaren Vos, younger than most, sat gripping his rifle too tight.
Across from him, Sergeant Fyn Derro glanced over.
"Nervous?"
"No, sir," Vos lied.
Derro chuckled behind his vocoder. "Good. We'll probably hit another mine or get screamed at by command. Either way, you'll learn something."
Vos nodded stiffly. "Yes, sergeant."
The sergeant leaned back. "Rule of the rails: you either adapt or you die. And on Nhoros, dying's the easy part."
The troopers around them remained quiet. Focused. Union discipline was taught hard and early and fear had no room in their formation.
Atop the Raptor formation, aerial feeds transmitted faint thermal signatures to the train's internal monitors. Anything unusual would trigger alerts, even if visibility dropped.
"We've got four comm towers within sweep range," said Merin in the spire. "Their signal pings are stable."
"Good," Jace said. "As long as they stay that way, the train runs silent and intact."
He turned his gaze back toward the viewport. The blizzard was thickening now choking light and sound.
A predator's fog.
Then, a soft alert blinked on one of the consoles.
"Tower 2's signal pinged late," Merin said. "By about 0.8 seconds."
Jace turned. "Repeat check."
She ran the diagnostic again. This time, no delay.
"Probably a snowdrift spike," she said.
He paused for a moment. Something itched at him.
He walked over to the terminal, reviewed the report.
"Flag the tower. Passive observation mode. Don't alert anyone."
"Yes, sir."
The red line on the rail map continued crawling forward.
—[OPERATIONAL COMM LOG – DESIGNATED INTERCEPT WINDOW: 07:03 – 07:17 LOCAL TIME]—
Primary Actors: [Classified – Unauthorized Entities]
Event Type: Rail Assault – Ambush in Storm
Location: Theta Ridge, Gridline B-44
Visibility: <50m
Conditions: Category III Blizzard, Ionospheric Interference Active
Uplink Status: Interrupted (Manual Override Detected)
"Beginning drop in 10... 9... 8... brace!"
—Kei'la, Gravedancer, descent channel
The Gravedancer shot through the white veil like a predator bird diving into fog, thrusters blazing across frozen cliffs. Wind howled like tearing steel, turbulence slamming the hull as the ship descended beside the rail line.
Below them, the Steel Morrow thundered along the elevated track fifteen massive armored cars plowing through the mountain pass, storm winds lashing at its hull.
Kei'la kept her hands steady on the stick. Her feathers fluttered violently under her flight jacket, eyes locked to the dim outline of the train on the visual scanner. "Altitude steady. Hold pattern. Sidewinder clamp locked."
"Maintain distance," Cain said beside her. "We jump in two seconds."
Behind them in the deployment hold, Threx loaded his quad-barrel scattergun with magnetically-locked slugs. Rook checked the winch system, calibrating it to magnetize midair if needed.
The bay doors opened. A surge of wind slammed inside.
Cain barked into comms. "Execute drop. Now!"
With a sharp mechanical jolt, the four-man boarding team Cain, Threx, Rook, and two of Darela's rebels launched from the Gravedancer using mag-clamps and hover tethers. They slammed hard onto the top of the cargo cars with bone-rattling force.
Cain rolled, rifle up, HUD cycling through thermal. He couldn't see more than ten meters ahead snow pounded sideways, obscuring everything.
"Topside team secured," he commed to Kei'la. "Hold position."
"Gunships are still flying escort," she replied. "I'll keep low and quiet."
On the ridge above the train, Kei'la lay prone beneath a snowblind tarp, her Pryxan LR-7 anti-material rifle set against a collapsed thermal rock. The weapon was enormous synthsteel-reinforced barrel, fusion-core accelerator, and a velocity compensator longer than her forearm.
"Visuals near zero," she said into the link. "Targeting on audio trace and infrared."
"First strike when the Raptor swings close," Cain replied. "Then I want two more gone in thirty seconds."
"Easy," she whispered. "Just paint the vent in red."
One of the HX-79 Raptors banked wide in the storm, its flank exposed for just a breath of a second.
Kei'la tracked it through the scope. Wind buffeted her feathers. She held her breath.
K-CHUMM!
The LR-7 kicked back like a shockwave, slamming her into the snow. The round hissed through the blizzard striking the exposed engine vent of the gunship.
The Raptor erupted in midair engines rupturing, hull spinning sideways. It crashed hard into a ridge outcrop in a plume of fire and twisted alloy.
"One bird down," Kei'la whispered. "Vent's cooked."
Cain's voice buzzed in the link. "Keep going."
Back on the train, Threx ripped open a roof hatch with his forearms and dropped into Cargo Car 5. Inside were six Union Troopers, already reacting to internal sensor trips.
The mantisoid didn't wait he fired his quad-gun, slugs ripping through the cabin. Armor-piercing rounds shattered two soldiers instantly. Another fired back plasma searing the wall near Threx's arm but he ducked, surged forward, and impaled the trooper against the ceiling.
"Car 5 clear," he clicked into the comms.
Rook dropped into the next hatch, immediately grabbing one of Darela's rebels who'd been shot in the descent and dragging him behind a crate.
"Stabilizing," Rook said. "Do try not to die so quickly next time."
Inside the command tower at Relay Bastion, a static surge exploded across multiple monitors.
"Sir comms from Train Alpha-776 just degraded! Signal interference from Towers 2, 3, and 4—someone's jamming us!"
Lt. Jace snapped his head toward the board. "Send backup signal pings. Use satellite grid—"
"Sir, visual telemetry just cut. We lost contact with Raptor One!"
Three Raptors broke formation, circling low for ground engagement. They opened fire on the side slope, where the rebels had launched det-charges earlier.
Kei'la braced for her second shot.
K-CHUMM!
Another round flew. This one clipped the rear stabilizer of a Raptor it veered midair, hit an icy pillar, and broke in two.
The other Raptors went evasive, scanning for sniper trace.
"They're scanning your thermal!" Cain barked.
"Relocate!"
She moved fast rolling down the slope, cloak trailing like a specter, rifle mag-ejected and swapped in a heartbeat.
Cain and one of Darela's rebels breached Vault Car 6 using mag-welders. As the door peeled open, a Union trooper inside fired a burst catching the rebel in the neck. Blood sprayed across the vault interior.
Cain dropped the shooter with two rounds.
Inside the vault: racks of Union Mark-VI pulse rifles, stacked cryo-crates, and sealed cases with red hazard glyphs.
"Jackpot," Cain said.
"Train speed still too high," Rook commed. "Our ship can't keep a tow latch."
"New plan," Cain barked. "Front car. We slow it down manually."
"Reckless," Rook replied. "I approve."
Cain, Rook, and Threx began pushing forward, car by car clearing resistance, ducking under plasma fire, and eliminating opposition with brutal, surgical pace.
In Car 3, Cain slammed a trooper into a window and kicked him out into the blizzard.
In Car 2, Threx threw a crate at two defenders, crushing them instantly.
Rook took a stun blast to the chest barely flinched and used a mounted med injector as a blunt instrument on a Union sergeant.
"We've got one bird tailing the Gravedancer," Kei'la said. "They're locking on!"
The ship veered as laser tracers danced across its hull.
Kei'la grabbed her final round, loaded it, and sighted fast.
K-CHUMM!
The round blew straight through the cockpit of the pursuing Raptor. It spiraled, flipped, and smashed into the ridge.
Wreckage exploded, flaming pieces bouncing off the rear of the train.
But the debris clipped the train's engine car, blowing a pressure valve and triggering an uncontrolled acceleration.
—[BLACK BOX LOG FRAGMENT: TRAIN ALPHA-776 – ENGINE CAR CORE MODULE]—
Status: Critical
Engine Pressure: 148% and rising
Auto-brake Protocol: Failed
Manual Override: Unresponsive
Collision Forecast: 7 Minutes
Snow whipped past the window in violent horizontal waves. From the roof of Car 2, Cain stared toward the front of the train, eyes locked on the glow of the engine compartment ahead. It was flickering erratically something was very wrong.
"Rook, status on clamp retrieval?" Cain barked into comms.
"No dice," the medic-bot replied sharply. "Tow cable's jammed, and with the train accelerating, we're fighting Newton himself. We need to get to the control room now or kiss those crates goodbye."
"Kei'la, bird situation?"
"Burning scraps. Last one's down," came her steady voice. "But you're running out of time."
From above, the Gravedancer was forced to peel away unable to maintain parallel speed for long without burning fuel or risking a stall.
Cain slid down the hatch and entered Car 1, the last before the front engine compartment. Threx was already there, pacing like a caged animal.
"Control's up there," Cain said, nodding forward.
"Threx, Rook you're with me."
Rook caught up, his cloak shredded and scorched. He injected a stimulant into his chest.
"Three guards, minimum. Union doesn't leave a control room unprotected."
Cain reloaded his rifle. "We go fast. No warnings. Hit and take."
The forward door resisted their override so Threx stepped up and punched through it.
Plasma fire erupted from inside.
The engine car was a reinforced cockpit of controls, consoles, and containment units. Three Union Troopers guarded it helmets sealed, visors glowing.
They fired plasma bursts the second the door gave way. Cain dove left, Rook right. Threx walked straight in.
A blast hit Threx in the shoulder scorching chitin and flesh. He hissed and crushed one trooper into a side console. Sparks flew. Cain rolled under the next, shot twice one hit the trooper's thigh, the second through the chestplate.
The third trooper swung his rifle toward Rook only to get a syringe to the throat.
"Improvised tracheotomy," Rook muttered as the soldier slumped. "You're welcome."
Cain surveyed the console. "Where's the brake override?"
Rook pointed to the illuminated panel a red set of toggles flashing irregularly.
"Main throttle is stuck at 130%. Engine feedback loop. If we don't vent heat pressure now—"
The train lurched hard.
"—we're going to turn this ridge into a crater," Rook finished, holding onto a handrail.
Cain smashed the emergency override.
Nothing happened.
"System locked," said Rook. "Probably from the control tower remotely, or the Raptor crash damaged the subroutines."
Cain looked at the manual lever.
Threx saw it too. "Can slow with muscle. Maybe."
"Do it."
Threx grabbed the manual override lever designed to be turned by servo hydraulics, not arms. His chitinous fingers locked onto the handle. Veins bulged along his arms as he began to twist.
Gnnnnnkkk...
The train shrieked in response sparks flew as braking systems screamed to life.
"You're doing it," Cain said, gripping a console.
The entire train groaned as speed began to drop. Outside, snow ripped by slower now barely.
Rook looked back. "The tow clamps might hold if this keeps up—"
Then, from behind them, a sharp crack.
A plasma shot tore through the cabin, striking Threx in the side.
A wounded Union trooper, bloody and dragging himself, had pulled a pistol and fired from the doorframe.
Threx howled, clutching his side, but didn't release the lever.
Cain ended the trooper with a headshot and ran to Threx's side.
Outside, the Gravedancer circled back in with a warning blare.
"Cain, we're getting lock on the crate car now!" Kei'la shouted. "Two minutes before the ridge ends!"
"Do it!" Cain roared. "Clamp now! Threx has slowed the train!"
From the side of the train, a mounted clamp claw extended from the Gravedancer, locking onto the cargo car full of weapons and supplies.
The magnetic tether began to pulse.
As the clamp pulled, the cargo car jolted but didn't release.
Rook, monitoring the control, shouted, "Latches aren't fully disengaged! We need to cut it from inside!"
Cain cursed. "Rook go. I'll keep Threx alive."
Rook sprinted back through the corridor, dodging debris and fallen bodies, heading to the latch point.
Meanwhile, outside, the remaining Union soldiers, dazed from the ambush, began regrouping and firing blindly toward the Gravedancer. Plasma bolts sizzled in the snowstorm.
Kei'la, still sniping, dropped two of them before being forced to relocate again.
Rook reached the cargo latch controls and manually triggered the magnetic clamps.
The cargo car shuddered, then disengaged swinging into the grip of the Gravedancer.
But as the ship began to ascend with the car in tow a dying Union gunner inside the train, in a final act of spite or desperation slammed his fist against a scorched control pad.
He accidentally triggered the emergency acceleration command.
The engine roared.
Cain, still inside the control car, saw the console turn red.
"No no no no—"
The throttle jumped to maximum. Sparks flew. Alarms wailed. Outside, the already-weakened rail joints began to rattle.
The train lurched again harder this time. The speed exceeded previous safe levels.
Rook, clutching the side rail, shouted through the comms. "Cain! The train's reaccelerating! We're gonna derail!"
Cain stared at the controls, blinking warning lights reflecting in his eyes.
Threx collapsed, finally letting go of the lever.
The hull shook. Windows cracked. Steel groaned.
"Gravedancer," Cain barked. "Disengage now! Repeat disengage!"
"Still locked! Car's not clearing the lip!" Kei'la shouted.
"Get it loose!"
"Trying hang on!"
Cain slapped Threx's shoulder, dragging him to the hatch. "We're done here. Move!"
He pulled the mantisoid out into the corridor just as sparks began to fly from the console. A fuel line in the control module ruptured flames licking the walls.
Outside, the train teetered as it hit a corner bend in the ridge.
Cain climbed to the top hatch, yanking Threx after him, where Rook and the remaining rebel were already scrambling up. "We're getting off this coffin now!"
The Gravedancer, still dragging the cargo car, struggled to match speed.
Cain and Rook jumped first grabbing the side hatch of the Gravedancer. The rebel followed.
Threx stumbled.
The train pitched sideways.
Cain screamed, "Now!"
Threx leapt.
Cain caught his arm Rook grabbed his thorax together, they pulled the massive gunner aboard.
Just as the train derailed behind them.
The Steel Morrow left the tracks, its nose catching on a rocky edge flipping, snapping through snow-covered cliffs, crashing into the mountainside with a chain of explosions.
Fifteen cars. One massive fireball.
The crew, battered and burned, lay inside the Gravedancer, breathing heavy.
The storm raged around them.
But they were alive.
—[U.F.U. MILITARY ACTION REPORT #88044-CX | UNION STAR FORCE COMM CHANNEL INTERCEPT]—
Unit Echo-Lance-21 deployed.
Five atmospheric fast-strike craft launched.
Intercept coordinates triangulated via survivor distress ping.
Target: Unauthorized vessel [ID-Scrambled]. Armed and fleeing with classified Union property.
Engagement Protocol: Redline.
Atmospheric scramble initiated.
White Fire
The Gravedancer banked hard left, slicing through an avalanche of snow mist as alarms wailed.
"We've got five bogeys inbound!" Kei'la shouted, her claws tapping furiously across the controls. "Star Force interceptors fast and mean."
Cain looked over the pilot's shoulder. Through the cockpit window, only white blizzard and dark ridges flickered past, wind speeds peaking past safe limits.
"ETA?" he asked.
"Forty seconds. Maybe less."
"Rook?"
The droid sat slouched in the co-pilot chair, one optic dimmed, chestplate scorched. "Hull integrity at seventy-one percent. Shields are still offline. Suggestion: run like hell."
"Any chance we can break atmo and use a quick voidjump?"
"Not in this storm," Kei'la said flatly. "Nav systems won't calibrate in the ion disturbance."
Cain clenched his jaw. "Then we dance in the snow."
From behind the veil of ice and wind, five sleek Union atmospheric interceptors emerged like ghosts, matte grey color with glowing wing tips and undercarriage-mounted plasma autocannons.
"Target locked," came a vocoded transmission over open channel. "Unauthorized vessel. Stand down or be terminated."
"Yeah, no thanks," Cain muttered. "Kei punch it."
The Gravedancer dove low, skimming the jagged ridges.
The interceptors opened fire.
Plasma rounds lit the storm like blue lightning, some searing past the hull, others striking the rocky crags nearby sending bursts of powdered snow into the air.
Kei'la gritted her teeth. "They're trying to force us up into open air. Less cover."
"Then we stay low," Cain said. "We play their game, they win."
Inside the cargo bay, Threx had wrapped his side with emergency sealant and now sat against a bulkhead, massive chest rising and falling in pain.
The rebel contractor Dalen Var, a grizzled local resistance cell leader was leaning over a crate, loading a pulse cannon.
"They'll chase us all the way to the Core if we don't shake them," Dalen said. "There's a drop gorge two klicks out. If we clear it and dive, they won't risk following in formation."
Threx grunted, voice low. "Then you fly faster."
Back in the cockpit, Rook reviewed the terrain scans.
"There's a canyon. Deep. Narrow. Sheer ice walls and dead echoes."
"Perfect," Cain said. "Let's bleed some ghosts."
The Gravedancer reached the edge of a sheer drop.
Kei'la pushed forward on the controls. "Hold onto something."
The freighter nosed over the edge and plunged into the canyon.
The walls rose on either side, a blur of stone and frost, as the ship streaked down its narrow throat.
The Star Force interceptors hesitated then three peeled off and descended after them.
"Three on our six," Rook confirmed. "Two are flanking high. They're testing us."
"They want to funnel us into an ambush," Kei'la said. "Not today.
Cain pointed to a split in the gorge ahead two narrow channels diverging.
"Take left. Rook open bay hatch, ready some junk."
As the Gravedancer twisted into the narrower left channel, Rook hit a side panel and the rear cargo hatch opened partially.
Crates of spent parts, scavenged scrap, and emergency fuel canisters tumbled out behind them.
"Nothing says goodbye like thirty kilos of shrapnel."
One of the chasing interceptors clipped a tumbling crate its stabilizer snapped.
"Got one!" Rook cheered.
The interceptor spun out, slammed into the canyon wall, and exploded in a fiery burst of orange and blue.
The shockwave rocked the Gravedancer.
The two remaining pursuers veered closer, firing bursts that scorched the freighter's aft plating. The ship shuddered under repeated impacts.
Kei'la snarled. "They'll rip us apart before we reach the exit!"
"Then change the rules," Cain said. "You still have that forward emitter? The blind flare?"
Kei'la flicked a switch. "Manual only. No aim lock."
"Do it. At the split."
The canyon opened ahead into a fork wide enough for only one ship.
As they reached the edge, Kei'la triggered the blind emitter a directional flare that blasted searing light and electronic noise straight behind them.
The two interceptors staggered momentarily blinded and split in opposite directions.
"Yes!" Rook whooped. "Eat snow, you metal vultures!"
They emerged from the canyon onto a vast frozen plateau, the storm still roaring around them but thinning slightly.
"We've got nav lock!" Kei'la shouted. "Storm's breaking. I can align void bearings!"
"Plot a jump," Cain ordered. "Now!"
Behind them, the remaining two interceptors who'd flown high now descended to re-engage. Twin plasma blasts seared past the ship's undercarriage.
"Thirty seconds to burn," Kei'la muttered. "Keep 'em off us."
Dalen rushed to the cargo bay turret and opened fire, sending plasma streaks toward the interceptors.
Threx, despite his wounds, joined him dragging a heavier cannon up and locking into the dorsal mount.
"Time for revenge," the mantisoid growled.
The last interceptors swept in fast, low, and lethal.
Dalen scored a hit on one it spiraled, damaged, smoke trailing.
The second dove for a kill run.
Cain gritted his teeth. "Kei punch it!"
The Gravedancer hit maximum thrust. Ice sprayed behind them as the engines roared to full burn.
The interceptor locked weapons.
"Five seconds!" Kei'la shouted.
Cain raised his rifle and, through the side window, fired wildly just as the turret behind let loose a coordinated burst.
The interceptor burst into flame just as the Gravedancer punched through the thinning clouds.
"Coordinates locked!" Rook confirmed. "Spooling core."
"Void threshold in three two "
Stars elongated.
" one."
A burst of light.
Silence.
The Gravedancer vanished.
—[REBEL CELL REPORT: HOLLOW WIND BASE | 4 HOURS POST-ESCAPE]—
"They got the supplies. They made it out. Dalen said they'd draw the storm away buy us time.
If this is the end, let it be one we chose."
The Gravedancer dropped out of voidjump above the snow-veiled valley known as Hollow Wind a hidden rebel base carved into the underside of a collapsed mining shaft. Burnt scaffolding, scavenged gun emplacements, and tents made from old Union fabric dotted the plateau.
The moment they touched down, snow and wind kicked up around the freighter's rear ramp.
Cain was the first down, rifle slung over shoulder, eyes sweeping the perimeter. A half-dozen rebel fighters, wrapped in patchwork armor, came jogging toward them followed by civilians and a few older children peeking from tents.
Dalen Var, despite a bloodied bandage around his ribs, strode forward. "You did it," he said, voice hoarse. "You gods-damned maniacs actually did it."
Cain grinned faintly. "More or less. Lost half a liver and one good coat."
"You brought more than we hoped. Weapons. Medpacks. Field rations."
Threx emerged next, wounded but towering. Kei'la followed, her fur matted with dried sweat. Rook trailed last, arms crossed and cloak fluttering.
"Now," Rook said, "where's my money?"
Inside the base command chamber half cave, half converted reactor hall Dalen handed over a slatecase. Cain opened it, revealing several rows of stacked credit rods, blinking faint blue. Union-printed, untraceable.
"Your promised sum," Dalen said. "Clean and clear. You earned it."
"And the rebels?" Cain asked.
Dalen nodded toward a nearby map a star chart with dozens of circles drawn. "We'll get this to seven other cells. This cargo this one shipment will keep people alive for six more months. Maybe longer."
Cain let out a slow breath. "That might actually be worth the trouble."
Rook tapped the case. "Time to vanish, then."
Within the hour, the Gravedancer was refueled and rising off the snowy plateau. A few of the rebels, children especially, stood waving silently as the ship lifted into the cloud-wracked sky.
Cain stood at the window near the crew bay, watching the figures shrink beneath them.
"We helped them," Kei'la said quietly, walking up beside him.
"For a price."
"Even still."
He didn't answer. The sky was already darkening.
Hours later back on Nhoros airspace a Union recon drone scanned the ruined train wreckage. One of the surviving Union troopers, helmet cracked and limping, transmitted a distress beacon and coordinates.
Three hours later, the response came.
Above the planet, three U.F.S.C. frigates dropped into orbit sleek, angular voidships with dorsal rail turrets and burnished armor. Shuttles launched.
Boots hit the snow.
Hollow Wind Base – 04:31 Local Time
The rebels awoke to warning alerts and the rumble of incoming dropships.
Dalen emerged from his tent half-dressed and already shouting orders. "Scatter the civilians! Get the tunnels open NOW!"
Women and children scrambled to the east cavern, a dark tunnel sloping under the ridgeline. Young rebel fighters moved crates, shoved rifles into hands, posted to defensive ledges.
Then, in the pale pre-dawn sky, Union dropcraft descended six Union Trooper platoons, followed by Union Legion squads in full exo-armor.
From the front of a dropcraft stepped a tall, black-armored Union Commander with no visible insignia.
His helmet was smooth, and his voice fed through a vocoder: "This facility is in violation of Union Code 457-A. Surrender and submit to detainment."
"You think we'll kneel?" Dalen shouted from behind cover.
"No i think you'll die."
The Union Legion advanced.
Gunfire broke the calm.
Rebel fighters held ledges, outcroppings, even mining sleds retrofitted with cannons. But they were outgunned, outnumbered, and out-armored.
The Union came with shock drones, slug rifles, aerial gunners, and EMP charges.
One by one, the rebel positions fell.
Dalen held the central chamber as long as he could, barking orders, covering a young girl's escape into the tunnel until his side was pierced by three rounds. He slumped against the wall, defiant to the last.
"You'll never kill the fire on this world," he rasped.
The black-helmed commander stepped over him, looked around, and tapped his comms.
"Recover all viable assets. Destroy the rest."
Union engineers moved through the base with cold efficiency. Weapons crates were tagged for extraction. Medpacks and food salvaged. Everything else barracks, maps, records was torched.
A captured line of rebel survivors only a dozen were bound and made to kneel.
The commander gave a single nod.
Gunshots rang out in the snow.
Above the storm, the Gravedancer cut through the black skies of frontier space. The crew was silent.
Rook sat in the engine room, legs dangling, staring into the glow of the fusion coils.
"We gave them a shot," he muttered to no one.
Kei'la was in the cockpit, eyes scanning for threats, but none came.
Cain sat alone in the armory, cleaning his rifle. A single tag D. Var sat on the crate beside him. He tucked it into his coat.
"Next job?" Kei'la's voice crackled over the comm.
Cain looked up.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Next job."
The ship angled toward the stars, fading into the horizon.