Volunar System
Mission Time: T+83 Days (Post-Stasis)
SBC Vanguard, Outer Approach Vector to Zephyr-17
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“We have entered the Volunar System. Estimated arrival at designated observation orbit in two hours, thirty-one minutes.”
The ship’s AI—an outdated but stable model designated CALI—delivered its report in a flat, affectless tone. Commander John R. Logan exhaled through his nose and slowly stood from his acceleration couch. Muscles ached, ligaments creaked. Cryogenic stasis did its job well, but even second-gen nanomedical recovery left behind a residue of stiffness.
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Eighty-three days out. Two more hours until they were close enough to scan a dying world.
The Vanguard was old by modern standards. Commissioned in 2071 as part of the long-range scientific research fleet, she lacked the newer Core Fusion drives that powered the latest Vector-class heavy explorers. Logan didn’t mind. She was a proven workhorse—modular, redundant, and above all, reliable. She had crossed the extragalactic divide twice and made humanity’s first verified contact with extraterrestrial intelligence.
She didn’t need to be fast. She just had to survive the void.
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Logan rubbed at his eyes and scanned the forward display. In the distance—no more than a yawning absence in the stellar fabric—lay the Volunar Black Hole, a silent, lightless tear in space. No human vessel had ever been this close.
“Helmsman, bring up sector 73-B, quadrant 9.”
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Lieutenant Connors, young but competent, nodded and pulled the relevant data onto the forward holodisplay. A stark black void appeared—no stars, no light, just the silence of annihilation.
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Logan leaned back, arms crossed. “Hard to believe that used to be a star. One almost as large as Sol.”
Connors didn’t look away. “Commander, how does a planet like Zephyr-17, orbiting a different star entirely, end up inside that thing?”
Logan keyed up the latest data feed. “Zephyr-17’s orbit destabilized when a meteor hit the planet thirteen months ago. A mass extinction event—two-thirds of the population, gone. But worse than that, it shifted the planetary axis and disrupted atmospheric equilibrium. Our best models suggest that within three years, the planet will lose orbital lock and spiral into deep space. Momentum will carry it straight toward the Volunar hole.”
“That's... billions of kilometers.”
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“And it’ll make the trip. Exit velocity’s estimated at over thirty-seven thousand kilometers per hour.”
Connors turned toward him. “Is there anything we can do?”
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Logan paused. The kid had guts, asking the question out loud. “Not for them,” he said. “But maybe for us. Data, patterns, projections. If we can understand how it happened, maybe we can stop it from happening again—closer to home.”
Connors returned to his console without another word.
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Logan didn’t blame him. The Verillians—an intelligent, space-capable species—were circling the drain of a cosmic toilet. No rescue was possible. The MaurrKaunn, the race that first contacted humanity via burst transmission in 2078, had warned them—cryptically, but accurately. The data matched. Zephyr-17 was dying.
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And then the Vanguard’s proximity alarm sounded.
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[ALERT] Object detection. Sector 57-J. Two fast movers. High-metal composition. Biometric readings—positive.
“Contact?” Logan asked.
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“Negative visual, sir,” said Chief Radar Officer Paxson over comms. “Telemetry confirms presence, but we can’t get an optical lock. They’re cloaked—or something like it.”
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Logan’s jaw tightened. “Classification?”
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“Unknown. No transponders. Signatures don’t match any registry. And—shit—contact lost. Systems are scrambling.”
“Get me full-spectrum EM analysis,” Logan barked. “All decks to alert status. Engineering, bring us to all-stop and hold position.”
Acknowledgements rang out over comms. Logan stood, moved to the elevator at the rear of the bridge.
“Connors, transfer my station access to the Observation Deck. If they uncloak, I want eyes on them.”
The lift hissed closed, and Logan rode it upward in silence.
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Observation was a full-dome array—a 360-degree panoramic view filtered through real-time feeds and advanced light stabilization. As Logan entered, the command console unlocked with his credentials. The forward display pulsed, adjusting for the black hole’s spectral distortion.
“Artillery Chief Boyd to Commander Logan.”
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“Go.”
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“Sir, our forward mortars are meteor-busters. If those things are hostile...?”
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“You treat them like rocks in our way and break them into dust. Understood?”
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Boyd gave the kind of sarcastic ‘aye-aye’ that only came from academy graduates who knew exactly how screwed they were but still showed up to fight.
Logan appreciated that.
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Then, on the edge of his vision—movement. A shimmer. Like space bending around something that shouldn’t be there.
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“Sir—they’re back,” Paxson called out. “Visual confirmation. They're right on top of us.”
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Logan didn’t need the feed. He was already staring straight at them.
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Two vessels, sleek and predatory, materialized from thin air less than five klicks off the starboard bow.
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They weren’t Verillian.
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They weren’t MaurrKaunn.
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And they weren’t human.
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Logan keyed the comm.
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“I see them,” he said. “Stand by for possible contact.”