Chapter 4: Stay Alert

The Vanguard surged forward through the star-speckled void, its engines humming a steady rhythm. The crew had slept fitfully, each member haunted by the implications of their mission. The clock ticked down to their arrival on Aldros-IV, and as the ship entered the planet’s orbit, a blanket of thick, swirling dust storms became visible on the screen.

Scar stood in the command center, watching the churning clouds below with narrowed eyes. “Bring us in low, Nova,” he commanded. “Stay under the storm layer. We don’t want to be seen.”

Nova’s fingers flew across the controls, her focus honed and razor-sharp. “Descending into the soup,” she replied, guiding the ship carefully through the turbulent atmosphere. The Vanguard shuddered and creaked as winds battered its hull, but she kept the descent smooth.

Cyko, strapped into a seat near the rear, groaned. “I swear, every planet we visit has the worst weather. Where’s the tropical paradise mission? Just once, I’d like to see palm trees instead of death storms.”

Jefro, buckling himself into his own harness, shot him a withering look. “If we ever find a palm tree in space, I’ll name it after you. Now, quit whining and make sure your weapons are set.”

Cyko inspected his laser rifle, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Locked, loaded, and ready to shoot my way out of whatever nightmare waits for us down there.”

Scar’s voice cut through the chatter. “Focus, everyone. We’ve got a job to do.” His tone was firm, but his eyes flickered to Arlen, who sat quietly in a corner, his small form dwarfed by the ship’s bulkheads. The boy hadn’t spoken since his desperate plea on the previous mission, and his silence weighed heavily on the crew.

Nova leveled the Vanguard’s trajectory, skimming the ship just above the planet’s surface. The dusty landscape spread out in every direction, a desolate expanse of rock and sand. “Approaching the crash site,” she announced, her hands steady on the controls. “I’m setting us down a quarter-click away to avoid drawing attention.”

The landing gear deployed with a metallic clang, and the Vanguard touched down on the rocky terrain. Dust settled around the ship, swirling in lazy eddies before dissipating into the wind. Scar unbuckled his harness, grabbing his helmet and securing it with practiced efficiency.

“Standard formation,” he ordered. “Jefro, stay on comms and monitor the Vanguard. Cyko and I will secure the perimeter. Nova, keep Arlen close and make sure he’s safe.”

Cyko slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Perimeter duty, huh? I love being bait for whatever carnivorous wildlife calls this rock home.”

Scar gave him a sidelong look. “Think of it as an adventure.”

“Yeah, an adventure where something eats me,” Cyko muttered, but he followed Scar out of the ship, his boots kicking up puffs of dust with every step.

The landscape was barren, the air thick with particulate that danced in the wind like malevolent ghosts. Scar’s visor displayed readings in real time: radiation levels minimal, oxygen present but thin, wind speeds dangerously high. He scanned the horizon, noting the jagged outcroppings of rock that loomed like skeletal remains of a long-dead civilization.

Cyko swept his rifle from side to side, his grin gone, replaced by a soldier’s hardened focus. “This place gives me the creeps,” he admitted. “Too quiet.”

Scar didn’t respond. He’d been to enough warzones and abandoned outposts to know that silence was rarely a friend. He kept his weapon at the ready, every muscle coiled like a spring.

Back at the ship, Nova stood guard over Arlen, who clung to the edge of his seat. The boy’s eyes darted around, wide and full of unspoken fear. Nova knelt beside him, her helmet off, revealing her sharp features and dark, steady eyes.

“You’re safe here,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Arlen’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—trust, perhaps, or the faintest hint of hope. But he still said nothing, only nodding once.

Jefro’s voice crackled through their comms. “Scar, I’m picking up an unusual energy signature near the crash site. It’s faint but consistent. Want me to run a deeper scan?”

Scar tapped the side of his helmet, activating his comm link. “Affirmative. Keep me updated. We’re heading to the cargo wreckage now.”

He and Cyko moved carefully, each step deliberate, until they crested a ridge and saw the downed cargo ship. It lay broken and battered, half-buried in sand. The hull was shredded, jagged metal jutting out like the teeth of a beast. Scar’s gut tightened. Whatever had brought this ship down hadn’t been gentle.

Cyko whistled low, the sound muffled through his helmet. “Looks like a warzone. You think this was just bad luck?”

Scar approached the wreckage, running his gloved fingers over the twisted metal. “Doubt it. Stay alert.”

They moved closer, stepping through the remnants of cargo crates that had spilled across the sand. Most of the containers had been shattered on impact, their contents strewn about—spare parts, ration packs, and other supplies that were now useless.

At the heart of the wreckage lay a single, intact crate. It was large, made from reinforced metal with thick locking mechanisms and an ominous Delta Command insignia painted on the side. Scar gestured for Cyko to cover him, then knelt to inspect it.

“Jefro, we found the cargo,” Scar reported over the comms. “It’s still sealed, but the locks are damaged. What’s the status on that energy signature?”

Jefro’s voice came back, tinged with concern. “It’s spiking. Whatever’s inside that crate is powering up, and it’s not happy.”

Scar’s eyes narrowed. He knew he was under orders not to tamper with the cargo, but something in Jefro’s voice, combined with the unsettling energy reading, made his instincts scream in protest. “Cyko, be ready for anything.”

Cyko positioned himself, rifle at the ready. “I’m always ready for ‘anything,’ but I’d prefer ‘nothing’ for once.”

Scar hesitated for only a moment before gripping the broken latch and prying it open. The crate hissed as pressurized air escaped, and the lid swung upward. For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Inside, nestled among layers of protective cushioning, was a human child. A boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, with messy dark hair and eyes that looked too old for his youthful face. He was eerily still, his chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled breaths.

Cyko lowered his rifle, his mouth hanging open. “What the...?”

Scar leaned in, his pulse thundering in his ears. The boy’s eyes opened slowly, fixing on Scar with a piercing gaze. For a moment, the two stared at each other, the world around them forgotten.

Then the boy spoke, his voice hoarse but clear. “Please... don’t give me to them.”

Scar’s blood ran cold. He had faced many threats in his career, but nothing had prepared him for this. He turned back to Cyko, his mind racing. “Get Jefro and Nova out here. Now.”

Cyko didn’t need to be told twice. He activated his comm and barked the order, his usual humor nowhere to be found. “We need backup at the crash site. Move!”