Present Day
The control room of the Syndicate’s research facility felt like a mausoleum of knowledge, its vastness illuminated only by the faint hum of holographic consoles and the cold glow of data streams cascading down the walls. Here, within the bowels of this technological cathedral, Marik Voss stood alone at the epicenter of power, his mind racing with possibilities that others could barely comprehend. He had isolated himself from humanity long ago—physically, mentally, spiritually—and now he was a ghost of the brilliant scientist who had once captivated the Galactic Consortium.
The ceiling arched above him, a cold dome of titanium and glass, impenetrable to the swirling cosmic storms that raged outside the facility’s walls. Beyond that lay an endless desert of stars—far from Rahzar, far from the capital of Neonara—and further still, far from the light of his former life. The Syndicate had brought him here, to the edge of known space, to a planet unnamed on Consortium maps. It was a place of secrecy and shadows, a fitting domain for men like Voss who sought to manipulate the laws of the universe.
The air in the room was thick with tension, though the facility remained eerily quiet. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic hum of data streams and the occasional whirr of the holographic display that floated before him. The projection showed the galaxy as it was—fractured, broken, on the brink of collapse. Each ripple in the display was a tear in space-time itself, a testament to the growing chaos brought on by the Unraveling. And somewhere, hidden deep within those chaotic folds, lay the elusive Signal.
For years, Voss had chased that ghost. It had become more than a scientific curiosity; it was an obsession that had driven him to abandon everything—his ideals, his reputation, even his family. He could still hear the echoes of his last conversation with Lysara, her voice filled with quiet reproach. But those echoes were faint now, drowned out by the relentless pursuit of something far greater than either of them had ever imagined.
“Doctor,” came a sharp voice, breaking the silence.
Commander Thorne, the Syndicate’s most relentless agent, entered the room with a predatory grace. His reputation preceded him—a hunter with a singular goal: to bring The Voyager to justice. Thorne was not here to oversee Voss’s research; he was here because the Syndicate’s interest in Voss’s work aligned with his hunt. The Voyager, it seemed, had a deeper connection to the Signal than anyone had realized, and Voss was one of the few who understood that connection.
The contrast between the two men was stark. Thorne, dressed in his dark Syndicate uniform adorned with silver epaulettes, radiated an air of menace. His eyes were sharp, cold, the eyes of a predator who thrived on the hunt. He was a man of action, of violence when needed, and his reputation for ruthlessness was well-earned. The creases along his brow and the set of his jaw bespoke years of relentless pursuit, not just of The Voyager, but of any who defied Syndicate rule.
Voss, by comparison, seemed almost ethereal, as if he had transcended the physical plane and now operated on a different frequency. His dark, disheveled hair, streaked with grey, framed a face that had once been handsome but was now hollowed by obsession. His eyes were darker still, shadowed with sleepless nights and the weight of countless failed experiments. Where Thorne represented the iron fist of the Syndicate, Voss embodied its intellect, cold and calculating.
“Commander Thorne,” Voss said without turning, his voice a calm murmur in the cavernous room. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Thorne’s boots clicked sharply against the metal floor as he approached, his posture as rigid as ever. “I’m not here for pleasantries, Doctor. I’m here for results.”
Voss’s lips curled into a thin smile, though he didn’t break his gaze from the holographic display before him. “You’ll have them soon enough.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. “We’ve been searching for The Voyager for months now. Every lead brings us closer, but he slips through our fingers at the last moment. The Syndicate believes the Signal is key to finding him—and you’re the only one who can give us what we need.”
Voss finally turned, his dark gaze meeting Thorne’s cold, unwavering stare. “The Signal isn’t a tool to be used lightly, Commander,” Voss said, his voice edged with quiet intensity. “It’s far more complex than you realize. Its effects are unpredictable, and tampering with it could have consequences beyond our control.”
Thorne’s expression remained hard, unyielding. He was a man who didn’t care for the nuances of scientific caution. He had his orders, and those orders were clear: find The Voyager at any cost. “I’m not interested in your warnings, Doctor,” he said flatly. “I’m interested in results. The Syndicate has invested heavily in your research, and they expect it to pay off.”
Voss stepped away from the display, walking slowly around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re a man of action, Commander. I understand that. But what you’re asking for—it’s not as simple as tracking a ship through space. The Signal is…alive, in a way. It reacts, it shifts, and it can’t be followed by conventional means.”
Thorne’s jaw tightened, his frustration barely concealed. “Then find unconventional means. We don’t have time for your philosophical musings.”
Voss paused, glancing back at the swirling holographic projection of the galaxy. His mind raced with calculations, theories, possibilities. The Voyager had become something of a legend in the years since the loss of the GCS Horizons—a man of mystery, a rogue captain who had defied both the Consortium and the Syndicate alike. But Voss knew something that few others did: The Voyager had a connection to the Signal, one that ran deeper than anyone had suspected.
“It’s not just about finding him, is it?” Voss said, his voice quiet but probing. “You believe The Voyager knows something—something about the Unraveling, something about the Signal. That’s why the Syndicate is so desperate to capture him.”
Thorne’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
Voss continued, his tone measured. “I can track him. I can use the Signal to pinpoint his location—but it won’t be without risks. The energy required to manipulate space-time in that way could destabilize entire sectors. And if The Voyager has learned to harness the Signal himself… well, it could turn into a dangerous game.”
Thorne’s eyes flashed with impatience. “The Syndicate isn’t interested in caution. We want him found. And you’re going to help us do that.”
Voss’s lips curled into a slight smirk, though there was no humor in it. “Of course. But remember, Commander—when you play with forces like this, the line between hunter and prey can blur. The Signal isn’t something you control. It’s something you navigate… carefully.”
Thorne didn’t respond immediately, his gaze locking onto Voss’s. For a moment, the room felt even colder, the air thick with tension. The stakes were clear—both men knew they were playing a dangerous game, one that could unravel more than just their enemies.
“You have one month, Voss,” Thorne said finally, his voice hard. “Find him. Or the Syndicate will find someone who can.”
Voss’s eyes flicked back to the holographic display, his mind already turning over the next steps in his research. The room fell silent again as Thorne turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, his boots echoing in the empty chamber.
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Voss alone once more. He stared at the swirling galaxy before him, the fractals of light representing the ever-accelerating collapse of space-time. Somewhere out there, The Voyager was running, hiding, navigating the chaos that Voss himself had helped create.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the danger.
Marik Voss stood in front of the glass-enclosed observation deck overlooking the Syndicate’s experimental laboratory, his eyes scanning the chaotic symphony of scientists, engineers, and technicians working tirelessly beneath him. The laboratory was a labyrinth of cutting-edge technology, flickering consoles, and towering apparatuses designed to manipulate the very fabric of space-time. The walls hummed with a subtle energy, a byproduct of the experimental machines that pulsed and whirred, echoing Voss’s own frantic pace of thought.
The sleek, angular architecture of the facility contrasted sharply with the jagged landscape outside—a barren, lifeless planet that reflected the stark, utilitarian nature of the Syndicate’s philosophy. There were no frills, no distractions here. Only the relentless pursuit of knowledge, power, and control.
Voss’s gaze fell on one of the lead scientists, a woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair tied back in a severe bun. Alyss Yara, the brilliant biogeneticist whom the Syndicate had recruited for her revolutionary work on genetic enhancements. She moved with a quiet intensity, her eyes never leaving the data streams in front of her as she oversaw the integration of biological data into the time distortion matrix. Yara was a key part of the team, and although their fields of expertise were vastly different, Voss respected her precision and focus. He had seen that same intensity in his own reflection many times.
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind as he watched her. There was a time when he had valued collaboration, when he had sought the counsel of brilliant minds like hers without the specter of Syndicate control hanging over them. Those days, however, were long gone—buried beneath layers of compromises and dark decisions.
Yara’s gaze suddenly lifted, her sharp hazel eyes locking with Voss’s through the glass. She gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, her face impassive, and then returned to her work, adjusting the holographic displays that hovered in front of her. Voss felt a faint pang of something—was it guilt?—but he quickly pushed it aside. There was no room for doubt, not anymore.
“Doctor Voss,” came a voice from behind him, breaking the moment. A young technician approached, his uniform pristine but his face etched with exhaustion. “The preliminary tests for the time distortion device are ready. We’re awaiting your final approval.”
Voss turned slowly, nodding to the technician. “I’ll be down shortly.”
The technician bowed slightly before scurrying away, leaving Voss alone again with his thoughts. He lingered at the window, his mind drifting, not to the experiment at hand, but to a memory he had long tried to suppress. Lysara. The thought of her still sent a ripple through his otherwise composed exterior.
In another life, they had been partners in every sense of the word—colleagues, confidants, lovers. She had been his grounding force, the one person who had reminded him that science was not just about discovery, but about ethics, about the greater good. Lysara had warned him, time and time again, that his experiments were crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed, that his obsession with bending reality itself would lead him to ruin.
She had been right.
He could still picture her, standing in the Grand Hall of the Consortium, her tall figure draped in the flowing robes of Rahzar, her amber eyes ablaze with conviction. They had argued fiercely that day, their voices echoing through the vaulted halls. It had been the last time they spoke as partners. He had chosen the path of the Syndicate shortly thereafter, believing that only they had the resources to take his research to its full potential. It was a decision that had severed their bond, perhaps irrevocably.
“She wouldn’t recognize me now,” Voss muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t spoken to Lysara in years, hadn’t seen the disappointment in her eyes when she heard of his defection to the Syndicate.
And now, here he was—one of the galaxy’s most brilliant minds, on the verge of a breakthrough that could reshape the fabric of space-time itself. And yet, the victory felt hollow. What was the price of progress, when it came at the cost of everything else?
He took a deep breath, straightening his posture. This was not the time for sentimentality. The experiment—the project—was all that mattered now. The Signal, the Unraveling, The Voyager… they were all part of something larger, something far more important than his personal regrets.
Voss turned and made his way toward the central lab, his mind already shifting back to the technical intricacies of the experiment. As he descended the sleek metal staircase that led down to the main floor, he passed several other scientists, each focused intently on their own specialized tasks. The Syndicate had spared no expense in assembling this team—each of them the best in their field, handpicked for their brilliance and, more importantly, their lack of moral hesitation.
The lab’s interior was a hive of activity, a blend of cold efficiency and cutting-edge technology. Holographic displays floated in midair, showing complex mathematical equations and quantum models that defied conventional understanding. A massive cylindrical device, the heart of Voss’s time distortion experiment, loomed in the center of the room, its surface lined with intricate, glowing circuits. It pulsed with a soft, eerie light, as if it were alive, waiting for Voss to unleash its full potential.
Alyss Yara was already there, overseeing the final calibrations. She glanced at Voss as he approached, her expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps respect—behind her eyes.
“Everything’s in place,” Yara said, her voice clinical, though there was an underlying tension to her tone. “We’re ready for the first full test.”
Voss nodded, his gaze drifting to the device. It represented years of work, years of pushing the boundaries of what was thought possible. Time distortion technology was still in its infancy, but this… this was something different. It wasn’t just about bending time; it was about manipulating it, about controlling the flow of reality itself.
“Begin the sequence,” Voss ordered, his voice steady.
Yara gave a sharp nod to the team, and within moments, the lab was bathed in a soft, pulsating light. The time distortion device hummed to life, its circuits glowing brighter as the energy coursed through it. The room seemed to vibrate with a strange, almost imperceptible force, as if reality itself were beginning to bend under the weight of the experiment.
For a few moments, everything seemed to be working perfectly. Data streams flowed smoothly, and the device continued its steady pulse, growing brighter with each passing second. But then, without warning, the hum of the machine turned into a high-pitched whine. The light from the device began to flicker erratically, and the air around them grew tense, heavy, as if time itself was warping.
“Something’s wrong,” Yara said sharply, her fingers flying across the console in front of her. “The energy output is spiking. The system’s destabilizing.”
Voss’s heart raced, but outwardly he remained calm. He had known there would be risks. The technology they were working with was volatile, unpredictable. But he had also learned, long ago, that progress required sacrifice.
“Shut it down,” Yara snapped, her voice rising in urgency.
“No,” Voss said, his voice firm. “Let it continue.”
Yara shot him a look of disbelief, but she didn’t argue. The room was now vibrating violently, the light from the device flashing dangerously. Scientists scrambled to maintain control, their faces etched with fear and confusion, but Voss remained still, his eyes locked on the machine. He could feel it, the moment when the experiment teetered on the edge of success—or catastrophic failure.
And then, just as the room seemed on the brink of collapse, the light flickered one last time and stabilized. The hum of the machine returned to its steady, rhythmic pulse, and the vibrations in the room ceased.
A long, tense silence followed.
Yara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned the data. “We’re stable,” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “But that was close. Too close.”
Voss’s expression didn’t change. “Success is never without risk, Dr. Yara.”
She didn’t respond, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary. There was something in her gaze—a mixture of respect and wariness. Voss had a reputation for brilliance, but also for recklessness. She knew that working with him meant walking a fine line between genius and disaster.
Voss turned back to the machine, his mind already moving to the next phase of the experiment. He could feel it—he was close now, closer than ever before. The Signal, the key to the Unraveling, was within reach.
He had sacrificed everything for this moment. And he would sacrifice more if necessary.
The dimly lit corridors of the Syndicate’s flagship, Black Solace, carried an eerie, quiet hum as Voss made his way toward the private meeting chambers. His footsteps were deliberate, echoing against the cold metal floor, a reminder of the isolation he often felt within this immense structure—a stark contrast to the warm grandeur of the Galactic Consortium’s old halls. Here, ambition bled through every wall, suffocating the ideals of collaboration and scientific purity that had once driven him.
The doors to the chamber slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a room dominated by sharp lines, dark metals, and sparse furnishings. Seated at a sleek, black conference table was an imposing figure: Rygar Thrace, a former comrade-in-arms, now twisted by bitterness and betrayal.
Thrace was a man who had been sculpted by war and personal vendetta. His disfigured face—a result of the catastrophe that had taken the GCS Horizons—was a constant reminder of the past Voss had tried to forget. The burn scars that marred the right side of his face had twisted his once-handsome features into a permanent grimace. His sharp, blue eyes, however, remained as cold and calculating as ever, burning with the hatred that now fueled him.
“Voss,” Thrace greeted him, his voice a low growl. “I see the experiment almost imploded… again.”
Voss met his gaze evenly, not allowing the sharp comment to unsettle him. “That’s the price of progress.”
“Progress,” Thrace repeated with a sneer, leaning back in his chair. “Is that what you call it? Or is it obsession?” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you’ve forgotten why we’re really here. Your experiments, this madness you keep chasing—it’s not about the Syndicate, or the galaxy. It’s about her.”
There it was. The one wound Voss could never quite keep closed—Lysara. Thrace’s words stung, though Voss masked his reaction behind a calm, composed exterior. He folded his hands in front of him, resting them on the table, his mind racing.
Thrace knew exactly where to dig. He always had.
“This isn’t about Lysara,” Voss said coolly. “This is about saving the galaxy. My research is the only thing standing between us and total collapse.”
Thrace tilted his head slightly, studying him with a predator’s gaze. “You keep telling yourself that, Voss. But we both know you’ve lost control. You’re not saving the galaxy—you’re trying to rewrite it. To play god.”
For a brief moment, the two men sat in silence, the tension between them palpable. Voss felt the weight of Thrace’s words, but he also knew the truth—Thrace’s hatred wasn’t just for him. It was for The Voyager, the man Thrace had once trusted, and who he now hunted with a singular, violent purpose.
“I haven’t forgotten the mission, if that’s what you’re implying,” Voss said at last, his voice steady. “The Syndicate’s directive is clear. Find the Signal, harness its power, and use it to stop the Unraveling.”
“And what happens when the Signal rips through the minds of everyone who touches it?” Thrace’s voice was sharp, almost mocking. “You think you can control it? You think the Syndicate can? You’re deluding yourself.”
Voss felt his pulse quicken. “That’s why we’re perfecting the time distortion technology. The Signal is bound to space-time in ways we don’t fully understand. We’ve already seen its effects—it distorts reality, warps the minds of those exposed to it for too long. But with the right technology, we can manage it. Control it.”
“Control it,” Thrace echoed with a dark chuckle. “That’s what you said before, when you pushed the Horizons beyond its limits.”
Voss’s jaw clenched. The loss of the GCS Horizons was a wound that cut both ways, and Thrace had made sure Voss would never forget it. His experiment, his obsession, had cost them dearly. Lives had been lost—good people, brilliant minds, all because he had pushed too far, too fast. But the answer had been there, just out of reach, and that was a failure Voss would never forgive himself for.
“Don’t lecture me about control, Thrace,” Voss said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve spent the last five years chasing The Voyager across the galaxy, hoping to settle your score. You’re not any less obsessed than I am.”
Thrace’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “My obsession is justified. I’m going to make him pay for what he did. For abandoning the crew. For letting them die.”
Voss could hear the bitterness, the hatred that had festered in Thrace ever since the Horizons had been lost. He understood that hatred, even sympathized with it. But he also knew that Thrace’s vendetta was as much about revenge as it was about absolution. Thrace blamed The Voyager for the disaster, but Voss knew the truth. The blame lay with both of them.
“You’ll have your chance,” Voss said after a long pause. “The Syndicate’s search for The Voyager has intensified. We’re closing in on him.”
Thrace’s lips curled into a cold smile. “I’ll find him. And when I do… there won’t be anything left of him.”
The words hung in the air, filled with a darkness that made Voss uneasy. Thrace’s pursuit of The Voyager had become something far more personal, far more dangerous than a simple mission. It was an obsession that rivaled Voss’s own.
“I suggest you stay focused on the task at hand,” Voss said, his voice measured. “The Signal is our priority. And if we don’t find a way to control it, your revenge will be meaningless. There won’t be a galaxy left to fight for.”
Thrace leaned forward, his eyes boring into Voss’s. “Just make sure your experiment doesn’t blow us all to hell before I get my hands on him.”
Voss rose from his seat, straightening his coat. “I’ll see to it that the next test is successful. You should prepare your team for the next phase of the mission. We’ll be moving soon.”
Thrace didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on Voss, as if weighing his words, searching for weakness. But after a moment, he gave a slight nod, his expression hardening.
As Voss turned to leave, Thrace’s voice cut through the quiet one last time.
“Don’t think you’re free from guilt, Voss. The day will come when you’ll have to answer for everything you’ve done.”
Voss paused in the doorway, his back to Thrace. He didn’t turn around, didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The weight of his choices, his compromises, already hung heavy on his shoulders. He had made his peace with the darkness long ago.
But even now, with the weight of the Syndicate, the Signal, and the galaxy itself bearing down on him, there was one thing he knew for certain.
There was no turning back.
The sterile corridors of Black Solace gave way to a more refined, almost regal part of the ship—the private quarters and laboratories of Dr. Marik Voss. Here, the cold, harsh aesthetic of the Syndicate’s militaristic vessel softened, revealing Voss’s influence. Clean, elegant lines, walls adorned with holographic projections of complex data, and artifacts from long-forgotten civilizations showcased his vast intellect and thirst for knowledge. It was a haven for a man who had dedicated his life to unraveling the mysteries of the universe.
As Voss entered his quarters, the door slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss, sealing him in solitude. The tension from his conversation with Thrace lingered, but Voss knew better than to let it consume him. Thrace’s vendetta was his own burden to carry, and while Voss understood it, he could not allow himself to be drawn into the emotional vortex of revenge. He had bigger concerns.
At the far end of the room, a single holopad rested on a glass table, its surface dimly lit. Voss approached it slowly, his fingers brushing over the sleek surface as the display came to life, projecting an image into the air. It was an old holo, one he hadn’t looked at in years.
Lysara.
Her image flickered to life before him, a snapshot of the woman she had once been—young, driven, radiant with ambition. Her silver hair was loose, cascading down her back, and her amber eyes shone with a determination that had captivated him all those years ago. She had been a force of nature, a woman who could command a room with her presence alone.
Now, the image was nothing more than a ghost.
Voss stared at the projection, his mind drifting back to those early days—before the unraveling, before the Syndicate, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. He could still remember the way they had worked together, the synergy they had shared. Lysara had been brilliant, her mind as sharp as her ambition, and for a time, Voss had believed they could change the galaxy together. They had been partners in every sense of the word—two minds united in the pursuit of knowledge, of understanding.
But then, something had shifted.
Voss’s research had taken him down a path Lysara could not follow. His obsession with pushing the boundaries of reality, of bending the laws of space and time, had frightened her. He had tried to explain it to her, tried to make her see the potential in his work—the power to rewrite the very fabric of the universe. But she had pulled away, choosing the safety of the Consortium’s more cautious approach.
He had watched her retreat from him, watched as she threw herself into the bureaucratic quagmire of politics, abandoning the scientific purity that had once defined her. It had been the beginning of the end—not just for them, but for everything.
The hologram flickered, and Voss waved his hand, dismissing the image. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Lysara was gone, consumed by her role in the Consortium, her ideals too soft for the harsh realities of the galaxy. Voss, on the other hand, had chosen a different path—a path that led him to the Syndicate and their insatiable thirst for power.
A chime echoed through the room, pulling him from his reverie. He tapped a control on his wrist, and the soft voice of his assistant, a young engineer named Kira Venn, filled the space.
“Dr. Voss, we’ve completed the analysis of the temporal distortions from the last experiment. The results are… unusual.”
Voss’s eyes sharpened, the mention of the experiment snapping his mind back to the present. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Kira hesitated for a moment. “There’s something else, sir. The Syndicate has sent an urgent communication. They want a full briefing on the next phase of the project.”
Of course, they did. The Syndicate was nothing if not impatient. They didn’t care about the intricacies of his work, the delicate balance he was trying to maintain between science and chaos. They only cared about results—about power.
“I’ll deal with it,” Voss said curtly. “Prepare the data for review.”
As the transmission ended, Voss steeled himself, his mind racing through the possibilities. The temporal distortions were the key to controlling the Signal—he was certain of it. If he could find a way to stabilize them, to harness the energy without causing catastrophic feedback, the Syndicate would have the weapon they desired.
But it was dangerous. Thrace was right about one thing—the risks were immense. The Unraveling was not just a force of nature; it was a force of destruction, and one misstep could tear the fabric of the galaxy apart. But Voss had never been one to shy away from danger. He had built his career on pushing the boundaries of what was possible.
And he wasn’t going to stop now.
As he exited his quarters and made his way to the lab, Voss’s thoughts drifted once more to Lysara. She would have disapproved of his methods—of that, he was certain. But she wasn’t here to stop him. No one was.
He would succeed, where others had failed.
The lab was a hive of activity when Voss arrived. Engineers and scientists moved through the space with purpose, adjusting equipment, monitoring data streams, and calibrating the delicate instruments that lined the walls. At the center of it all was Kira, her sharp hazel eyes focused intently on the holoscreen in front of her. She was young, perhaps too young for the gravity of the work they were doing, but her intellect was undeniable.
“Dr. Voss,” she greeted him, her voice clipped but respectful. “We’ve stabilized the distortions for now, but the feedback is still unpredictable. It’s as though the energy from the Signal is… pushing back.”
Voss frowned, stepping closer to the holoscreen. “Explain.”
Kira pulled up a series of complex equations, the data flowing across the screen in rapid succession. “The temporal field is holding, but every time we increase the power, the distortions amplify exponentially. It’s almost as if the fabric of space-time is resisting the manipulation. It’s… unstable.”
“Unstable” was an understatement. If the field collapsed under too much pressure, the entire experiment could end in disaster. But if they could find a way to stabilize it…
Voss’s mind raced through the calculations. There had to be a way. The distortions were the key to unlocking the Signal’s potential—he was certain of it. But they needed to approach it with precision, with control.
“We’ll need to recalibrate the field generators,” Voss said, his voice calm and steady. “Increase the power output gradually. No sudden spikes. If we can manage the feedback in smaller increments, we should be able to stabilize the field long enough to extract the data we need.”
Kira nodded, her hands already moving to implement the changes. “Understood.”
As she worked, Voss couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, this was where he thrived—on the edge of discovery, pushing the limits of what was possible. The Syndicate might see his work as a weapon, but to Voss, it was something far greater.
It was the future.
Voss stood at the observation window of his private quarters aboard Black Solace, staring out at the stars as they slipped past in the void. His reflection ghosted across the glass, a reminder of the man he had become. The lab hummed with the faint vibrations of the ship’s systems, a constant reminder that time was pressing forward. The Syndicate’s demands weighed heavily on him, but his mind was far from the present.
It was the past that called to him now, a memory so sharp it felt like a blade cutting through the fog of years. The Horizons.
The destruction of the GCS Horizons was a wound that had never fully healed. He had never spoken of it with anyone—not even Lysara in those final strained days before their estrangement. No one but him knew the true depths of the disaster. He had buried it, convinced himself that it had been a calculated risk. But now, with the distortions growing more unstable with each experiment, the echoes of that failure came roaring back to the surface.
His hands tightened into fists as he closed his eyes, letting the memory pull him in.
The Horizons had been a ship of promise, a shining beacon of the Galactic Consortium’s ambition. At the time, they were all certain they were on the verge of something magnificent. Dr. Marik Voss, then a rising star in the Consortium’s scientific community, had been at the heart of the mission. It had been his project—their attempt to unlock the mysteries of deep space anomalies, their first venture into manipulating time itself.
He had stood on the bridge of that ship, surrounded by the best minds the Consortium had to offer. Kara had been there, calm and steady as ever, her hands poised over the helm as she expertly guided the Horizons through the anomalies. Selina Kael had been at his side, her sharp mind working in tandem with his own as they monitored the data feeds. The Horizons was more than a ship—it was the culmination of everything they had worked for.
But they had gone too far.
The anomaly they had sought to study had been unlike anything they had ever encountered. It had twisted reality, folding space-time in ways that defied even their most advanced calculations. Voss had been confident, too confident. He had pushed the ship and its crew beyond the limits of reason, convinced that they could control the forces they were tampering with.
And then it had all gone wrong.
The anomaly had reacted violently, tearing through the ship’s shields as if they were made of paper. The Horizons had shuddered, the deck beneath Voss’s feet trembling as the ship’s systems failed, one by one. Power surges, catastrophic breaches in the hull—it had happened so fast, too fast for them to respond. The last thing he remembered was Kara shouting for him to brace for impact before the world around him had exploded in fire and light.
He had survived, somehow. But the Horizons had been lost, consumed by the anomaly, its crew scattered across the stars, their bodies never recovered.
The guilt had nearly destroyed him. The deaths of Kara, Selina, and so many others weighed on his conscience like an anchor. He had been their leader, their guide, and he had led them to their deaths. Even now, the memory of their faces haunted him—the disbelief in Selina’s eyes as the ship began to fail, the grim determination on Kara’s face as she fought to save them.
And yet, even in the midst of that disaster, Voss had felt something else—a flicker of understanding, a glimpse of the true nature of the anomaly. It had been more than a simple distortion in space-time. It had been alive, in a way. Sentient. And it had responded to their presence, to their attempts to manipulate it.
That was what had drawn him to the Syndicate in the end—the promise of power, yes, but also the chance to finish what he had started. The Signal, the Unraveling, the anomalies—they were all connected. He was certain of it. And if he could find a way to harness that power, to control it, then perhaps the deaths of the Horizons crew would not have been in vain.
A sharp knock at the door pulled Voss from his thoughts. He turned, shaking off the weight of the memory, as Kira Venn stepped into the room, her expression tense.
“Dr. Voss,” she said, her voice clipped. “The preparations for the next experiment are complete. But there’s been an update from Syndicate command.”
Voss raised an eyebrow, his mind already shifting gears. “Go on.”
Kira hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing her words carefully. “They’ve received intelligence on the Voyager’s current location. They believe he’s closing in on the Signal.”
For a moment, the name Voyager sent a ripple of unease through Voss. They had never met, not formally, but he knew enough. The Voyager was a ghost, a rogue figure who had evaded the Syndicate’s grasp for years. And now, it seemed, they were destined to collide.
“He’s a fool,” Voss said quietly, turning back to the window. “He’s chasing shadows. The Signal cannot be controlled.”
“But isn’t that what we’re doing?” Kira asked, her voice careful, as if she wasn’t sure if she should challenge him.
Voss smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “No. We’re shaping the future. The Voyager is lost in the past.”
Kira nodded, though Voss could see the doubt flickering in her eyes. She didn’t understand—not yet. But she would. In time, they all would.
“Begin the experiment,” Voss ordered, his voice firm. “And prepare the temporal engines for activation. We’re going to finish what the Horizons started.”
Kira turned to leave, but she paused at the door, glancing back at him. “Dr. Voss… what if we’re wrong?”
For a moment, Voss didn’t answer. His mind drifted once more to the faces of his lost crew, to Kara’s steady gaze, to Selina’s sharp wit. What if they were wrong? What if the Horizons had been a warning, not a lesson?
But then the moment passed, and Voss pushed the doubt aside.
“We’re not.”
As the door slid shut behind Kira, Voss stood alone in the dim light of his quarters, his gaze fixed on the stars. The future was out there, waiting to be shaped. And he would be the one to shape it.
No matter the cost.