Nova walked around in the hull of the ship. It was a large enough vessel, the signage posted around the gray steel walls pointed to a max capacity of 3,000. There were to be far more than that for this trip, she knew. She walked further in, an arrow on the ground that pointed to the left down a long, damp hallway with “Cargo Hold” on it, cargo was crossed out. Great.
The cargo hold was a suffocating hive of desperation. Refugees crammed into every corner, some sitting on the cold metal floor while others huddled in groups, their voices low. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and something faintly metallic— probably blood. Overhead, exposed wires buzzed faintly, casting jittery shadows that seemed alive.
Nova stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the grated floor. The low, oppressive hum of the ship’s engines vibrated in her chest, a constant reminder of the machine carrying them through the void. She hated ships like this. The walls felt too close, the corridors too narrow, the air too thin.
A coffin with wings, tugging her hood lower to shield herself from curious eyes.
It wasn’t the first time she’d hitched a ride on a deathtrap like this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But something about this ship felt worse than most— like the tension could snap at any second.
She edged along the side of the hold, her gaze darting between the resistance refugees, all kinds of people. Most looked broken, gaunt from starvation or weary from running. A child clung to a woman’s leg, his wide, frightened eyes scanning the crowd. There was no laughter here, no warmth. Just the grim realization that this ship was their last hope, and even that might not be enough.
Nova tightened her grip on her jacket. Keep moving. Don’t make friends. Don’t make promises. Get out alive.
She had almost made it to the far side of the hold when she heard someone call out, “You don’t blend in as well as you think, silver hair. What’s your angle?”
Nova froze, glancing sideways. Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to look unfazed. A woman sat on an overturned crate near the edge of the room, watching her. Her black boots were scuffed but sturdy, and a scar ran down her cheek, giving her a hard, no-nonsense look. Sharp eyes gleamed with curiosity. And just enough malice to keep Nova wary.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nova said, her tone flat.
The woman leaned forward with a smirk. “Sure you don’t. People like you don’t just happen into places like this. You walk like you’ve got somewhere to be—and like you’re used to getting there.”
People like me?
Nova glanced around, noticing a few others watching their exchange. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Maybe I do. And maybe you should mind your business.”
“Relax, sweetheart.” The woman grinned, unfazed. “I’m not here to sell you out. In fact, I think you and I might be able to help each other.”
Nova crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I need help?”
“Because everyone on this ship needs help.” The woman shrugged. “Question is, do you want mine? Or are you gonna wait until someone less friendly decides to get curious?”
Nova didn’t answer immediately. She sized the woman up, noting the way her metallic fingers twitched near the hidden blade strapped to her thigh. She was dangerous, but that could be useful.
“What exactly are you offering?” Nova asked.
“Opportunity,” the woman said loudly, this forced Nova to walk closer. With her grin widening: “My crew’s looking for someone who knows their way around tech—and I can tell you’re not just here to sightsee. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you’re not just another ghost when this ship docks.”
Nova hesitated, weighing her options. She was about to reply when a loud crash silenced the murmurs in the hold.
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Shouts erupted from the far side of the room. Nova’s head snapped toward the commotion. A group of men had risen to their feet, armed with makeshift weapons—pipes, wrenches, and a plasma cutter that glowed faintly blue.
The leader, a broad-shouldered man with wild eyes, stepped forward. “We’ve had enough of this! The Resistance promised us freedom, but all they’ve done is get us killed! We’re taking this ship!”
Panic rippled through the crowd. Refugees scrambled to the sides of the hold, clutching their children and belongings.
The woman from the crate stood abruptly, muttering, “Great. Just what we needed—a pack of idiots with delusions of grandeur.”
Nova remained still, her mind racing. She watched as the rebels started moving toward the doors leading to the cockpit, shoving anyone who got in their way. The leader barked orders to his men, his voice echoing over the frightened murmurs.
“Secure the cockpit!” he shouted. “This ship belongs to us now!”
Nova turned her head slightly, noticing movement in the shadows near the edges of the hold. Several figures were stepping forward, all armed, their faces hard and unreadable. They weren’t part of the panicked refugees; these people had the calm, deliberate air of trained fighters. Nova’s gut told her they weren’t random passengers. That they belonged to the mysterious woman with a scar.
The leader of the rebels barked another order, raising his plasma cutter. “Anyone who gets in our way dies!”
Before his words had even fully echoed, one of the woman’s people moved. A lean, wiry man with tattoos for skin darted in from the shadows, his hand snapping out to grab the plasma cutter. With a single, brutal motion, he twisted it free and slammed it across the rebel leader’s head. The man went down hard, groaning.
“What the—” another rebel shouted, raising a pipe.
“Sit down,” a cold voice said, followed by the sharp snap of a stun baton. A second figure—this one a taller dwarf male—had appeared from the opposite side of the hold. He struck the rebel in the knee, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The rest of the woman’s crew moved like clockwork. In less than a minute, the rebels were disarmed, restrained, and shoved into a corner of the hold. The scarred woman watched it all unfold with a satisfied stare, her arms crossed over her chest.
She put a flat hand up, “That’s enough.” Her voice cut through the tension like a splice piece on a source code.
Her people stepped back, melting into the shadows again as though they’d never been there. The rest of the hold was silent, the refugees staring wide-eyed at the aftermath. Then not wanting to have attention attracted to them, hurried their eyes back to the ground.
Nova watched carefully, her mind working fast. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t just another passenger. Her team was too organized, too efficient.
These aren’t scavengers or mercenaries, they’re… professionals.
The scarred woman glanced down at the groaning rebel leader, kicking his discarded plasma cutter toward one of her people. Then, she looked at Nova, her sharp eyes narrowing.
“Well?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You coming, or are you just going to stand there looking impressed?”
Nova hesitated. She didn’t trust this woman, not yet. But I don’t have many options trapped in this cage.
With a shrug, she stepped forward. “Depends. Do you always travel with your own private army?”
The woman chuckled, hopping off the crate and slinging her jacket over one shoulder. “Only when I’m bored. Name’s Mila, by the way.”
Nova didn’t offer her name. Instead, she gestured toward the rebels, “Nice work. You do this kind of thing often?”
“More than I’d like,” Mila replied. “Come on. Let’s talk somewhere less… crowded.” She jerked her head toward a narrow corridor leading out of the hold.
Nova followed, her steps careful, her senses on high alert. As they walked, Mila’s tone shifted to something more serious. “You’ve got skills, silver hair. I could use someone like you.”
“What do you mean?” Nova asked, “We just met.” Nova looked around, wondering if that officer had ratted her out to these people. Why else would she know anything about me?
Mila’s grin widened, but there was steel in her gaze. “Let’s just say, I’ve got plans for when this rust bucket lands. And I think you’ll fit right in.”
Nova didn’t respond immediately. The hum of the ship seemed louder here, pressing against her ears. She glanced back toward the cargo hold, where Mila’s people were already gone.
They move like ghosts, she thought. Dangerous ones. “I’ll think about it,” Nova finally said.
Mila shrugged, as if she’d expected that answer. “You do that. Just don’t think too long. Opportunities like this don’t wait forever.”
Are they Resistance? They can’t be, not with this much competence. She smiled to herself, I think this is going to be interesting.