Chapter 5: The Delivery Point

The Vanguard raced away from Aldros-IV, the atmosphere’s stormy grasp receding into the void as they ascended. Nova’s hands flew over the controls, her eyes darting between readouts. The ship’s engines roared as she punched in coordinates, the familiar hum of the hyperdrive priming for a jump.

“We’re clear for now,” Nova announced, though her grip on the console remained tight. “Setting course for the delivery point. Estimated arrival in two hours.”

Scar stood near the viewport, the newly freed boy, Arlen, beside him. The boy had grown silent again, but his earlier plea, “Please… don’t give me to them,” still echoed in Scar’s mind. He clenched his jaw, frustration gnawing at his control. He had always followed orders, but this mission was straying into the unknown.

Cyko leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming against his rifle. “Two hours to think about how we’re flying into a trap,” he said, his tone forcedly light. “Any bets on what kind of welcoming committee we’ll get? Heavily armed aliens or homicidal androids?”

Jefro, hunched over his console, ignored the remark, his mind occupied with analyzing data. “I’m more worried about Arlen’s energy readings,” he said, his brows furrowed. “The kid’s bio-signature doesn’t match any human baseline I’ve ever seen.”

Nova glanced over her shoulder. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Jefro sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It means there’s something… unusual about him. He’s human, but his energy signature has traces of something synthetic, almost as if—”

“Stop,” Scar cut in, his voice low but commanding. He turned to Arlen, who stood stiffly, his small hands clenched into fists. “We’ll figure this out, but right now, we need to focus. Jefro, keep monitoring the energy signature. Nova, keep us on course.”

Arlen lifted his gaze to Scar, his dark eyes wide and full of fear. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t let them take me.”

Scar’s heart twisted. He had been trained to be unbreakable, a leader who never wavered. But there was something about this child, something that made him feel like he was staring into the abyss of a decision he couldn’t undo. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Cyko let out a low whistle. “Look at you, Scar. Turning into a softie?”

Scar shot him a glare, but Cyko just raised his hands in mock surrender. “Kidding, kidding. I like the kid, too. But let’s not forget we’ve got a ticking clock here.”

The Vanguard dropped out of hyperspace, arriving at the designated delivery point: a barren moon orbiting a blue, storm-wracked gas giant. The moon’s surface was a bleak, pockmarked wasteland, its craters glowing faintly with the reflections of the planet above. Nova’s fingers danced over the controls, guiding the ship down into a shallow canyon that served as the meeting spot.

The landing was smooth, but the silence that followed was anything but comforting. The moon was eerily still, the kind of quiet that felt like a predator holding its breath.

Scar led the team out of the Vanguard, Arlen sticking close to Nova, who kept her sidearm drawn and ready. The delivery point was marked by a circular platform of stone, ancient and covered in alien runes. The air was thin, and Scar’s helmet readout warned of fluctuating oxygen levels.

They waited, tense and alert. Every sound, from the hiss of their equipment to the faint shifting of dust, felt magnified in the silence.

Then, from the far end of the canyon, they appeared: a group of tall, sinewy figures draped in crimson armor. The Tark’rah, an alien species known for their deep-seated hatred of humanity. Their armor shimmered with iridescent light, and each of them held long, cruel-looking energy lances.

Scar’s hand instinctively tightened around his weapon, but he didn’t draw. The Tark’rah leader, a figure with a bone-white mask, stepped forward, his voice carrying a mechanical distortion. “You have brought the package?” he asked, his tone cold and precise.

Scar nodded, motioning for Nova to bring Arlen forward. The boy trembled, his eyes darting between Scar and the Tark’rah. Scar could feel the tension radiating off Nova as she placed a hand on Arlen’s shoulder, steadying him.

The Tark’rah leader tilted his head, examining the boy with an unsettling intensity. “The child,” he said, a note of satisfaction in his otherwise emotionless voice. “We have waited a long time for this.”

Arlen’s terror spiked, and he broke free from Nova’s grasp, throwing himself at Scar. “Please!” he cried. “Don’t let them take me!”

The Tark’rah soldiers tensed, their weapons buzzing with latent energy. Scar’s heart raced, but he kept his voice calm, even as doubt tore at him. “What’s so important about this boy?” he demanded.

The Tark’rah leader’s mask twisted, almost as if he were smiling beneath it. “He carries the knowledge of your destruction.”

Scar’s mind raced, but there was no time to process it. The moment stretched taut, every second a razor’s edge. Arlen looked up at Scar, his eyes wide with desperation. “They’re lying!” he shouted. “Please, don’t let them take me. I know the truth about Proxima-B!”

Scar’s instincts screamed at him. Years of following orders, of never questioning, warred with the raw, undeniable plea in the child’s voice. His hand hovered over his sidearm, his loyalty to Delta Command tearing at his conscience.

Cyko, who had been watching with growing tension, finally broke. “To hell with this!” he growled, raising his rifle. “We’re not handing over a kid to a bunch of alien psychos!”

The Tark’rah leader’s mask shifted, and in a flash, the soldiers raised their weapons. Scar’s decision was made in a heartbeat. He drew his sidearm and fired, the shot cracking through the thin air. Energy blasts erupted from both sides, the canyon becoming a warzone in an instant.

“Get Arlen back to the ship!” Scar shouted, covering their retreat with well-aimed shots. Nova grabbed the boy, pulling him away as the Tark’rah advanced, their lances slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Cyko fired in controlled bursts, his humor long gone, replaced by cold, practiced focus. “I knew today was going to end in a firefight!” he yelled over the din, dropping one of the Tark’rah with a well-placed shot.

Jefro’s voice crackled through their comms. “Scar, what the hell is happening out there?!”

“We’re under attack!” Scar barked back. “Prep the Vanguard for immediate liftoff!”

Nova and Arlen reached the base of the ship’s ramp, and she shoved the boy inside. “Stay there!” she commanded before turning back, her own weapon blazing as she covered Scar and Cyko’s retreat.

The Tark’rah leader, still untouched, raised a hand, and an energy pulse exploded from his palm. The ground beneath Scar cracked and buckled, throwing him off balance. He landed hard, his vision swimming. The alien advanced, weapon raised, but a shot from Cyko’s rifle clipped his shoulder, forcing him back.

“Come on!” Nova yelled, her voice sharp with urgency.

Scar staggered to his feet, every muscle aching, and raced for the Vanguard’s ramp. Cyko fell back, firing a final burst before diving inside. The ship’s hatch slammed shut, and the engines roared to life.

“Punch it, Nova!” Scar ordered.

The Vanguard lifted off, the thrusters kicking up a storm of dust and rock. Nova’s hands flew over the controls, and the ship surged upward, leaving the Tark’rah behind. But as they breached the moon’s atmosphere, Scar couldn’t shake the feeling that their enemies were far from defeated.

He slumped into a seat, his helmet dented and cracked. Arlen sat across from him, shaking, his wide eyes still filled with terror.

“You did the right thing,” Arlen whispered, his voice trembling.

Scar didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he believed that. But he knew one thing for certain: this mission had become something far more dangerous than any of them had anticipated.