Present day
The cockpit of the Neon Nights was thick with tension, the steady hum of overstressed engines vibrating beneath the deck plates. Kara Soren, her brows furrowed in fierce concentration, stared out into the vast expanse of Syndicate-controlled space. Jagged asteroid debris floated aimlessly in the void, punctuated by flashes of laser fire from the Galactic Consortium Space Corps vessels closing in on them from behind. The faintest glimmer of light from the distant stars offered no comfort, no escape. They were alone out here, and their pursuers were relentless.
Her fingers danced across the console, working in tandem with the ship’s systems to coax more speed from the ageing vessel. The Neon Nights was small and agile, but Kara’s flying was… different. It wasn’t just skill—it was as if she was part of the ship, every movement calculated beyond human ability. Warning lights blinked angrily in the corner of her vision, but she ignored them. No time to worry about breakdowns. Not with Admiral Rygar Thrace breathing down their necks.
“We’ve got five destroyers on our tail,” Kara muttered, her voice clipped and taut with adrenaline. Every muscle in her body was poised, her reflexes on high alert. “Shields are failing. Thrace isn’t just sending a message this time. He’s coming for blood.”
Behind her, The Voyager sat in the co-pilot’s chair, silent, his dark eyes fixed on the glowing displays in front of him. His face, worn by years of running, held a stoic calm, but there was a tightness around his jaw that betrayed the weight of his thoughts. Decisions made long ago had led them here, and he carried that burden like a shroud. Kara could see it in the way his hands gripped the armrest, knuckles white against the metal.
“He wants me alive,” The Voyager said after a long pause, his voice low, almost resigned. “He needs what I know about the Signal, about the distortions. But I doubt he cares much for the rest of you.”
Kara’s lips curled into a tight smile, though there was no humour in it. “No,” she said, barely audible over the blaring alarms and the whine of the engines. “He doesn’t.”
Another blast rocked the ship, slamming into the shields with a force that sent sparks flying from the console. Kara jerked the controls, pulling the Neon Nights into a tight arc through a cluster of asteroid fragments. The debris field was treacherous, but it was the only cover they had. Her hands moved with the precision of someone who had flown through worse—far worse—but The Voyager noticed something about her movements. Too perfect. Too precise. He pushed the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time for distractions. He needed her at her best.
“Just get us clear of the blockade,” The Voyager said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of urgency. “We can’t outrun them in open space, not like this.”
Kara didn’t answer, her focus locked on the shifting asteroid field ahead. The jagged rocks drifted like silent sentinels, massive and ancient, remnants of long-forgotten battles between worlds. She guided the ship between them, thrusters firing in short, sharp bursts as they weaved through narrow passages. But the Consortium vessels behind them were closing the gap. GCS Resolution, the flagship, loomed large, a shadow of impending doom.
“We’re running in the dark now,” Kara muttered to herself, sweat trickling down the side of her face. “One wrong move and we’re debris.”
Another blast slammed into their aft shields, and this time the impact was enough to throw the ship off course, sending a flare of light rippling across the hull. Kara’s fingers tightened on the controls, her breath catching in her throat as she fought to steady the ship.
“We’ve got seconds,” she breathed, her voice edged with fear she rarely showed. “Shields are down to twenty percent.”
“Push it through,” The Voyager urged, his eyes flicking to the GCS Resolution on the scanner. He knew Thrace all too well—had once served with him, before everything fell apart. Before the Horizons. Before the fire and the chaos. Thrace had been a different man back then, but that was a lifetime ago. Now, he was a monster, consumed by vengeance and hate. And The Voyager knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that Thrace wouldn’t rest until he had him in chains—or worse.
But this wasn’t just about revenge. Thrace wanted the Signal. He needed to control it. And if the Syndicate got their hands on the power of time distortions, they would reshape the galaxy in their image—an image of greed, profit, and oppression. It was the last thing The Voyager wanted, but it was the thing Thrace would stop at nothing to achieve.
On the bridge of the GCS Resolution, Admiral Rygar Thrace stood like a statue carved from steel, his scarred face illuminated by the cold glow of tactical displays. The bridge was a monument to the efficiency of the Consortium’s military arm—polished steel floors, blackened bulkheads, and walls lined with data streams that flowed like rivers of light. The crew moved in silence, their faces as unreadable as the consoles they manned, their every action executed with the precision of a well-rehearsed dance.
Thrace’s features were sharp, hardened by years of war and loss, but his expression was calm—dangerously so. His eyes, dark and unforgiving, were fixed on the viewscreen where the Neon Nights darted through the asteroid field like a wounded animal. There was no urgency in his demeanour, no frustration. He had all the time in the universe, and he knew that time was his greatest weapon.
“Close the net,” Thrace said, his voice low and cold. “I want them trapped.”
Behind him, standing just out of the direct light, Rina Torrin observed the scene with sharp, calculating eyes. Dressed in a sleek, high-collared suit that shimmered faintly in the dim light, she looked out of place among the military personnel. But her presence on the bridge wasn’t necessary—she was here to remind them who truly held the power. She represented the Syndicate, a combination of the galaxy’s most powerful corporations, and her influence ran deep through the Consortium’s ranks. Thrace might command the fleet, but Rina controlled the purse strings.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Admiral,” she said softly, her voice a purr of steel and silk. Her gaze remained on the viewscreen, watching the Neon Nights twist and turn through the asteroids. “The Voyager isn’t just another fugitive. He’s the key. We need him alive.”
Thrace’s sneer deepened, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I know what he is, Rina. But don’t pretend you’re not playing your own game here. We both know you want more than just the Signal.”
Her lips curled into a faint smile, cold and calculated. “I want stability, Admiral. The galaxy is on the verge of collapse. The Consortium is fracturing, the Free Worlds Alliance is gathering strength, and the Unraveling threatens everything. Someone has to control the chaos before it consumes us all.”
Her words hung in the air like poison, seeping into the minds of everyone on the bridge. Thrace’s jaw tightened as he processed what she said. He hated Rina’s politics, hated the way she manipulated events from the shadows. But he knew she was right. The galaxy was unravelling, and The Voyager held the key to stopping—or controlling—the chaos.
“The Voyager won’t get far,” Thrace said finally, his voice low and cold. “I will have him. And when I do, we’ll have the Signal. The Syndicate will have its control.”
Rina stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with ambition. “We can’t afford to fail, Admiral. The Star-Seekers’ prophecies are aligning. The galaxy needs vision, leadership. You could have that power, Thrace. You could lead.”
Thrace turned to her, his expression hardening. “Just remember, Rina. I’m not your pawn.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes darkened. “Of course not, Admiral. Of course not.”
The Neon Nights shuddered violently as the GCS Resolution’s boarding clamps latched onto the hull, the screech of metal-on-metal reverberating through the ship. Kara cursed under her breath, her hands flying over the console as she tried to reroute power to the thrusters, but it was no use. They were caught.
“We’ve got a boarding party incoming,” she muttered, glancing at The Voyager. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. “This is it.”
The Voyager’s eyes darkened, his mind racing through the possibilities. None of them were good. They were outmatched, outgunned, and now they were about to be overrun. But they weren’t dead yet.
“Then we fight,” he said quietly, his hand reaching for the blaster at his side. His voice was steady, but Kara sensed something else beneath the surface. He had faced Thrace before, and he knew how this would end if they didn’t find a way out.
The airlock hissed open, and the first wave of Consortium shock troops stormed the ship. They moved with precision, their heavy boots clanging against the metal floor as they fanned out, their weapons raised. The glow of their visor-mounted lights cut through the dim corridors of the Neon Nights, illuminating the smoke-filled air as they advanced.
Kara darted into cover behind a console, her pulse racing. “They’re not playing around this time. Shock troops—Thrace brought his best.”
The Voyager’s jaw tightened as he fired a shot at the nearest trooper. He knew what Thrace was after. This wasn’t just about capturing him—it was about making him pay for everything that had happened on the Horizons. Thrace wanted blood. And he wouldn’t stop until he had it.
The corridors of the Neon Nights became a war zone as the shock troops pressed their advantage. Kara moved with fluid grace, ducking behind crates and firing at any target that came into her line of sight. Even in the chaos, there was an eerie precision to her movements, as though she knew exactly where the enemy would be before they appeared. Her reactions were too fast, too perfect. But there was no time for The Voyager to dwell on it. Not now.
“We can’t hold them off forever,” Kara called out, her voice strained but still remarkably calm under the circumstances. “We need to get to the engine room. If they disable the core, we’re finished.”
The Voyager nodded grimly. His blaster was growing hot in his hands from the constant fire. “Go,” he ordered. “I’ll hold them off.”
Kara hesitated for the briefest of moments, her eyes meeting his. There was something in that gaze—a flicker of something unspoken. Trust? Or perhaps something deeper, something neither of them had the luxury to explore. But she didn’t argue. She turned and sprinted toward the engine room, her footfalls light, almost inhumanly so.
The Voyager stayed behind, firing at the advancing shock troops. He wasn’t aiming to kill, just to delay. If he could buy Kara enough time to stabilise the ship’s core, they might still have a chance. His mind was already calculating their next move, but every step they took felt like one further into a trap.
Thrace had planned this too well.
Another blast shook the ship, and The Voyager ducked as a burst of energy ripped through the console behind him. Sparks flew, lighting the corridor in flashes of red and orange. His jaw clenched as he fired another shot, hitting one of the troopers square in the chest. The man went down, but more were coming, relentless in their pursuit.
The Neon Nights shuddered again as the enemy continued their assault. They were being closed in on from all sides. His heart pounded in his chest, a steady, insistent reminder that time was running out.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the guilt gnawed at him. Not just the guilt of this moment, but the guilt of the Horizons, of the mission that had gone so terribly wrong. Thrace’s words from their last confrontation echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.
“You cost me everything.”
The Voyager clenched his jaw tighter, forcing the memories aside. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past—not now. But even as he pushed forward, part of him knew that the past was never truly gone. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to pull him under.
Kara reached the engine room, her hands moving rapidly over the controls. The ship’s core was unstable, warning lights flashing across the console in a dizzying array of red and yellow. The Neon Nights was holding together by a thread, and she knew they didn’t have much time.
Sweat dripped down her temple, but her movements remained calm, precise. There was something almost mechanical about the way she worked—swift, efficient, without hesitation. She rerouted power to the failing thrusters, diverting what little energy they had left to keep the ship moving.
But even as she worked, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had been gnawing at her since the moment they’d fled. It wasn’t fear—she didn’t feel fear the way others did. It was something else. A dissonance. A nagging sense that something wasn’t right. That she wasn’t right.
She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time.
The door behind her hissed open, and she spun around just in time to see a shadow move through the smoke-filled doorway. Her blaster was in her hand before she even thought to reach for it, her body moving with that same unnatural speed.
The shock trooper who had breached the engine room barely had time to raise his weapon before Kara fired. He went down with a thud, his visor cracked and smoke rising from his armour. But there were more behind him.
She pressed herself against the console, her breath quickening as the sounds of more boots echoed in the hallway. The enemy was closing in.
“Kara,” The Voyager’s voice crackled over the comm, strained but steady. “How’s it looking?”
“I’m stabilising the core, but we’re running out of time,” she replied, her voice tight. “They’re closing in fast. You need to get up here.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, finally: “I’ll be there.”
The Voyager fought his way down the narrow corridor, his blaster firing in short, controlled bursts. The ship was groaning under the strain of the attacks, but the sound of Kara’s voice over the comm was the only thing anchoring him to the present.
He reached the engine room just as Kara was finishing the last of the repairs. She glanced up at him, her face flushed but her eyes clear. “We need to go,” she said, her voice sharp, urgent. “Now.”
Without a word, they sprinted back toward the cockpit, their movements in sync, born of years of working together. Kara slid into the pilot’s seat, her hands flying over the controls as she powered up the ship’s thrusters. The Neon Nights roared to life, engines flaring as the ship tore free from the boarding clamps.
Behind them, the GCS Resolution loomed, but Kara’s skill as a pilot was unmatched. She manoeuvred the ship through the asteroid field with a grace that bordered on impossible, evading the fire of the Consortium destroyers by the skin of their teeth.
As the ship entered hyperspace, the stars outside stretched into long, brilliant lines, and for a moment, the chase was over.
The cockpit was quiet now, the adrenaline fading, replaced by the steady hum of the ship’s systems. Kara leaned back in her seat, her hands still trembling from the intensity of the chase, though her face betrayed none of it. She let out a slow breath, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Well,” she said, her voice breaking the silence, “running in the dark works sometimes.”
The Voyager didn’t respond immediately. He sat in the co-pilot’s chair, his eyes still fixed on the stars as they streaked past them. His face was set, a mask of calm, but Kara could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands still gripped the armrests.
She studied him for a moment, her smile fading as the weight of what had just happened settled over them both. Thrace wasn’t just another enemy. This was personal—for both of them. And The Voyager was carrying the weight of that history like a boulder on his back.
“You know,” Kara said softly, her voice careful now, “for someone who just outran a fleet of Consortium destroyers, you don’t look very relieved.”
The Voyager finally turned to her, his eyes dark, haunted. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move. Then, quietly: “Thrace won’t stop.”
His words were heavy, carrying more than just the fear of pursuit. Kara could hear it—the guilt, the regret, the memories he carried from the Horizons. He hadn’t let go of it. He couldn’t.
She sighed, leaning back and letting her head rest against the seat. “So, what now?”
“We need help,” The Voyager said, his voice distant. “We need to find the Free Worlds Alliance. They’re the only ones who can stand against the Syndicate and Thrace.”
Kara nodded, her mind already moving ahead. The Free Worlds Alliance. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance they had. The Alliance didn’t trust outsiders—especially not ones with Consortium ties—but if anyone could stop the Syndicate’s control of the Signal, it was them.
“I’ll set a course,” she said, her fingers moving over the console once more.
The Voyager leaned back in his seat, his eyes drifting to the stars once again. But even as they flew through the darkness of space, Kara couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still missing. Something important. Something about herself that she couldn’t quite grasp.
She cast one last glance at The Voyager, her heart heavy with unspoken words. There was something between them, something deep and complicated, but now wasn’t the time to untangle it. Now, they had a mission. They had to survive.
As the ship hurtled through hyperspace, Kara’s fingers tightened on the controls. No matter how far they ran, the dark was always just one step behind.
And somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a question lingered—one she dared not ask.
Why did she feel like she had lived this moment before?