A second Reaper craft veers deliberately into the line of fire meant for our shuttle, absorbing the barrage in a blinding cascade before spiraling away in flames.
“They’re targeting command signatures,” Rethan says. “They know you’re aboard.”
“Of course they do,” I reply.
The shuttle docks mid-flight with the cruiser in a maneuver that rattles every joint in my body. The hangar seals behind us, and the moment my boots hit the deck I am already moving toward the war room.
Elara follows, her expression composed despite the chaos echoing through the hull.
“Alliance is regrouping faster than anticipated,” she says, falling into step beside me.
“They no longer have narrative to control,” I answer. “They only have force.”
The cruiser shudders as a heavy strike glances off our port shields.
“Direct hit from interceptor wing,” Rethan reports as I enter the strategy chamber. “Shields holding at sixty-eight percent.”
“Return proportional fire,” I say. “Disable, do not annihilate.”
Rethan’s eyes flash briefly at that, but he relays the order without comment.
The tactical display becomes a dance of tightening arcs and desperate maneuvers. Reaper ships weave between Alliance volleys, absorbing damage that would cripple less resilient vessels.
“Captain,” one of the junior officers says, her voice strained, “strike unit five reports catastrophic hull breach.”
The feed flickers as the ship detonates under sustained fire.
The loss lands in my chest like a hammer.
“They hold the corridor,” Rethan says quietly. “They’re buying us time.”
I say nothing.
Another interceptor breaks through the screen, accelerating directly toward our cruiser with reckless velocity.
“I’ll take it,” I say, already turning.
“Captain—” Rethan begins.
“I’ll take it,” I repeat.
The secondary assault craft launches within seconds, its engines roaring with contained fury as I push it into the narrowing gap between our cruiser and the incoming interceptor. The cockpit vibrates under my grip as targeting systems align.
The Alliance craft is sleek and fast, its pilot skilled enough to anticipate my feint before I commit to it. We spiral around one another in tight arcs, pulse fire cutting bright scars across the dark.
“You’re not getting through,” I mutter under my breath.
The interceptor fires a heavy ordnance burst.
I roll the craft sideways just in time, but the shockwave slams into my flank. Warning indicators flare red. The hull plating screams under strain.
“Shields at critical,” my onboard AI announces.
“I know,” I snap.
I dive beneath the interceptor’s belly and fire at its engine assembly, carving through propulsion mounts in a precise burst. The craft shudders violently.
It is not enough.
