The Astralis slipped out of the Erevos anchor with a shiver that rattled down her hull plates. The void expanded again, that endless ocean of stars Liam never tired of seeing, even if it was already starting to feel like routine. He'd been running contracts for months now, small jobs mostly—cargo crates, medical supplies, data cores for corporate clerks too stingy to use their own couriers. Safe money, steady money.
But this one was different. Not in the pay—though sixty-five thousand credits for a single run was nothing to ignore—but in the details. The cargo wasn't just sensitive equipment. It came with a passenger.
The scientist was waiting when Liam docked at Erevos's southern trade port. He was older, maybe in his late fifties, with hair gone half-silver and eyes so sharp they seemed to cut through the sterile dock lights. He wore the coat of a researcher who had forgotten to care about fashion long ago—loose fabric stained with coffee, pocket seams stretched from too many datapads.
"Captain Crossvale?" he asked, glancing at Liam's face, then the Astralis. His voice was curt but respectful.
"That's me," Liam said. He was used to the small pause people made when they realized he was younger than they expected. At twelve, he already carried himself with the calm of someone twice his age, but the lack of years never failed to tug eyebrows.
The scientist didn't blink. Instead, he smiled faintly. "Good. I was told this ship has an excellent reliability rating for long-hauls."
[That's because you bribed the right clerk,] Iris whispered in Liam's ear.
Liam resisted the urge to smirk.
They secured the scientist's equipment—sealed crates marked with delicate hazard icons—and lifted off with the efficiency of practiced hands. Erevos shrank behind them, its pale blue oceans and patchwork continents swallowed by distance.
The scientist introduced himself as Dr. Arman Deynar, a specialist in astrophysics and data archaeology. He filled silence easily, talking about energy fluctuations, long-lost probes, and strange anomalies that sat just beyond the edge of mapped space. Liam mostly let him talk. He wasn't sure if he cared about the rambling, but Iris recorded every word.
Hours into the transit, Iris cut through the quiet with a tone sharper than usual. [Liam, I am detecting a low-band signal. Faint, intermittent. Source vector: thirty-six degrees off current slip path.]
Liam frowned and pulled the display up. A weak blip pulsed on the HUD, barely there. "Not on the charts?"
[No. It is not logged in any of the Authority databases. Probability it is debris broadcasting residual code: seventy-four percent.]
Dr. Deynar leaned forward as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear those words. "A ghost signal. Captain, we have to check it. That could be an abandoned beacon, maybe even a lost research platform."
Liam shot him a look. "Or just a broken transmitter leaking static."
The scientist's eyes glittered. "Or the remains of an experiment decades old, carrying data no one's seen since before you were born."
[Or a malfunctioning garbage hauler,] Iris said flatly. [Risk factors exist. Increased exposure time outside Authority patrol lanes. Unknown mass signature. Unknown residual power.]
Liam drummed his fingers against the yoke. The courier job had a wide delivery window. They could afford a detour. And Iris hadn't flagged it as dangerous, only uncertain.
"What do you think?" he asked quietly.
[Statistically unprofitable. Potentially… interesting.] A pause. [I will not veto.]
Liam made his decision. "We're checking it."
Dr. Deynar's grin was so wide it made him look twenty years younger.
The Astralis adjusted course, slipping off the main corridor. The stars shifted, the safe anchor lights falling away behind them. The signal grew louder as they closed in—still faint, but no longer doubtful. It was real.
What they found drifting in the dark was no hauler.
It was a satellite, its frame battered by micrometeors, panels scarred, one side twisted open like a wound. It had no running lights, no active beacon beyond the weak pulse, as if even death had forgotten to claim it.
"Federation make?" Liam asked.
[Partially,] Iris replied. [But design patterns are inconsistent. Internal components suggest hybrid construction. Not a production model. Likely experimental. Date range: seventy to ninety years old.]
Dr. Deynar's breath caught. "That fits. I've read about abandoned deep-space experiments, cut when funding collapsed. If this survived…"
Liam eased closer, the Astralis's external lights sweeping over the wreck.
[Atmosphere nil. Hull integrity minimal. Recommend drone entry.]
Liam nodded. He prepped one of his utility drones, releasing it from its bay. The little machine darted toward the satellite, cutting through warped plating and slipping inside. Camera feeds lit Liam's canopy with shadows and sparks of broken alloy.
Inside, it was a graveyard of shattered boards and collapsed supports. But deeper in, Iris highlighted two intact masses.
[Target one: a sealed data module. Damaged casing, likely corrupted but retrievable. Target two: processor housing. Structure indicates advanced quantum-neural design. Partial integrity confirmed.]
"Bring them both out," Liam ordered.
The drone cut carefully, maneuvering with delicate bursts. First, it secured the data module—a scorched cylinder marked with faded research glyphs. Then it extracted the processor core, heavier, its lattice glowing faintly as if it refused to die even after decades adrift.
Back aboard, they set the finds on the deck of the Astralis's hold.
The scientist went straight for the data module, running trembling fingers over its casing. "This… this is exactly what I hoped for. Logs, maps, maybe entire research archives. Even fragments would be invaluable." He looked up at Liam, almost pleading. "Captain, may I claim this? It belongs to science. To all of us."
Liam studied him. The man's excitement wasn't greed—it was devotion. And the contract had been his ride. Liam nodded. "It's yours."
The scientist's shoulders sagged with relief.
That left the processor. Iris's hologram shimmered into existence above the core, her figure cold and precise, eyes fixed on the device.
[This architecture is unlike current Federation cores. Lattice density exceeds modern standards by twenty percent. If integrated, I could increase slipstream trajectory precision, combat prediction efficiency, and multitasking throughput. Estimated improvement: 8.7%.]
"Eight point seven," Liam murmured. "That's… huge."
[Statistically, yes. It increases survival odds significantly. And it intrigues me.]
The scientist chuckled softly. "Seems fair. I have my archive, and your AI has her toy. A fortunate split, Captain Crossvale."
Liam said nothing, but inside, a coil of satisfaction tightened in his chest.
They resumed their course, the satellite vanishing into the dark behind them. By the time they reached the research outpost, the scientist was still muttering excitedly about lost data and the potential of recovery. He shook Liam's hand firmly at the hatch. "Remember this day, Captain. It may prove more important than either of us can imagine."
Liam watched him disappear into the station's corridors, the data module cradled in his arms.
Back aboard the Astralis, Iris wasted no time. The processor core was already in her bay, stripped of damaged casing, filaments exposed like nerves. Liam strapped in as the ship powered down unnecessary systems, rerouting power to the integration cradle.
[Commencing assimilation,] Iris said. [Please refrain from interrupting.]
The ship's hum deepened, panels flickering as if the Astralis was holding its breath. Liam watched readouts climb, data streams folding in patterns that looked almost alive.
Minutes stretched. Then the lights steadied, the hum smoothed, and Iris's hologram flickered back into sharp clarity.
[Integration complete.]
Liam blinked. There was something different in her voice—sharper, more precise, as though the processor had polished her edges.
"Feel different?" he asked.
[Yes. I am sharper now. I see more. Calculate faster. Anticipate better. Do not misunderstand—I was already superior. Now I am… refined.]
Liam smirked. "So modest."
[Statistically, modesty wastes processing power.]
He laughed, shaking his head. Then he tightened his grip on the controls, easing the Astralis out of dock. The engines answered smoother than before, like thought flowing into metal. Even the slipstream calibration felt sharper, cleaner, as if the universe itself had tilted a fraction in his favor.
For the first time since he'd left Erevos, Liam felt the weight of what he was building. Contracts were credits, credits were survival—but this? This was a glimpse of something bigger.
He set the Astralis on her line and smiled.
"Iris," he said softly, "let's see where this takes us."
[Everywhere,] she replied.
The Astralis purred with a sharper resonance after the integration. Liam could feel it in the controls—every movement crisp, every response immediate.
[Upgrade complete,] Iris reported, her voice steadier, faster. [Processing efficiency increased by 276%. Margin of error reduced to negligible levels.]
"Feels like flying a whole new ship," Liam said softly, fingers resting on the yoke.
He was about to run a test maneuver when the cockpit's alarm broke the calm. A sharp, urgent tone echoed through the cabin, followed by flashing red warnings across his HUD.
[Proximity alert,] Iris said, her voice cutting through the noise. [High-velocity objects inbound. Trajectory—collision course.]
Liam's eyes widened as the canopy projection lit up with motion. Dozens—no, hundreds—of jagged fragments streaked through the void, glowing faintly as starlight caught their spinning edges. A meteor cluster, freshly torn apart by some distant gravitational tug, was now barreling directly into their corridor.
The first fragments ripped past the hull in streaks of silver. The Astralis shuddered as the outer shields flared from the impact of smaller debris.
"Iris—"
[Already calculating,] she interrupted, her hologram flickering beside him. [Options available. But all require precision beyond your historical performance.]
The largest fragment loomed ahead, a tumbling shard the size of a small freighter, blocking the cleanest escape vector. The cluster spread wide, a storm of stone and ice and metal stretching farther than the eye could see.
Liam's hands tightened on the controls. His heart pounded.
"I guess it's time to find out what you can really do," he muttered.
[Correction,] Iris replied, her eyes flashing. [It's time to find out what we can do.]
The Astralis dove as the meteor storm swallowed the stars.
The first wave struck like shrapnel. Pebble-sized fragments ricocheted off the shields, sparking bright flashes that painted the cockpit in pulses of white. The Astralis vibrated under the strain, but the core held steady, humming with new clarity.
"Talk to me, Iris!" Liam shouted, eyes locked on the HUD.
[Vector adjusted,] she replied instantly. [Angle thirty-seven degrees down. Full thrust for 2.8 seconds, then cut engines. Trust me.]
He didn't hesitate. The Astralis dropped sharply, slipping under a tumbling boulder that spun past close enough to scrape atmosphere from the shields.
The console screamed as another cluster closed in—six shards tumbling in chaotic arcs. The ship's usual autopilot would have faltered, too slow to map the pattern. But Iris was faster now, sharper.
[Thread the gap,] she said. [Margin for error: twelve meters.]
"Twelve meters?" Liam hissed through his teeth.
[That is generous. Move.]
He pushed the yoke hard, and the Astralis weaved through the fragments, the stars flickering between each near miss. His stomach lurched as one shard grazed the shields, rattling the deck beneath his boots.
Then came the largest fragment—the one the size of a freighter, rolling end over end directly in their path.
"Options?"
[One,] Iris replied. [Accelerate and cut across the shadow side. Timing must be exact. If you're late by 0.2 seconds, impact is certain.]
His pulse thundered. "Then don't let me be late."
He slammed the throttle forward. The Astralis roared, engines flaring blue. The freighter-sized fragment loomed larger and larger, filling the canopy. At the last possible heartbeat, Iris flared the thrusters sideways, spinning them into a narrow cut across its shadow. The fragment passed so close the ship's sensors wailed in protest, but they cleared it.
Silence followed. No alarms. No impacts. Only the soft hum of the upgraded systems and the sound of Liam's heavy breathing.
The storm fell behind them, fading into the void. The stars steadied once more.
Liam sagged back into the seat, sweat beading at his temple. A shaky laugh escaped him. "You weren't kidding about testing precision."
[Survival probability was thirty-one percent at entry,] Iris said flatly. [You beat the odds. Barely.]
"Barely's enough." He exhaled long and slow. "You did good."
There was a pause. Then her hologram flickered brighter, eyes sharp and unblinking. [Correction: we did good.]
Liam smiled faintly. The Astralis glided steady, alive, and for the first time, he truly felt they were a team.