The asteroid field loomed ahead like shattered glass frozen in space, twisting slowly in the dark. The Tarn Drift. A deathtrap of planetary wreckage and forgotten debris—no place for a chase. And yet, that’s exactly where the smugglers ran. Being chased by an (Interstellar Defender Corps) I.D.C. cruiser. 

​

Inside the command bridge of the cruiser Silverhold, the air was thick with tension.

“Still no response from the courier vessel,” a young officer reported. “They’ve broken comms and are accelerating. They’re going into the Drift.”

​

Commander Rylos, a tall, angular alien with bright white skin streaked in bold patterns of deep blue, stood at the center of the bridge. His four eyes—two narrow above, two broader below—moved independently, scanning the drifting holographic display of the sector.

He didn’t look surprised.

“Of course they are,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Then, louder, with command in his voice:
“Prepare the net ships. Close off all exit vectors. Force them to burn their fuel before they vanish into the Drift.”

His upper eyes tracked the smuggler ship on the display, while the lower set flicked to a tactical readout. Rylos didn’t panic. He never did. He calculated.

From the back of the room, a voice cut through the calculated calm like a scratch across a polished screen.

​

“That’s not going to work.”

​

Agent Joseph Dalaurza leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. His brown tactical jacket looked like it had seen too many missions, and the scuff on his boots told a story no one wanted to hear again.

​

Commander Rylos turned slowly. “Not your call, Agent.”

​

Joseph shrugged. “Just saying—by the time your net ships are in place, they’ll be past the core spin of the Drift. After that, we lose line-of-sight and they’re gone.”

​

“Then let them crash themselves,” Rylos snapped. “No one survives in there long.”

​

Joseph pushed off the wall. “Well, let’s find out.”

​

He was already walking out before the Commander could reply.

​

In the hangar bay, the hiss of fuel lines and the hum of ship engines masked the tension between Joseph, now clad in a thick black space suit, moved with his team as they prepped the Cinderhawk—a compact strike craft built for speed over comfort.

​

Vessa, a tall, sleek alien with smooth pink skin and bold blue stripes trailing down her cheeks and neck, adjusted her comms visor with a practiced touch.

Her voice was calm, but edged with tension.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked, even though she already knew what he’d say.

​

"Nope. Doesn’t matter—we’re going in," Joseph said as he secured the utility belt around his suit.

​

Drex, a massive, orange, rough-skinned alien with a voice like gravel tumbling through an engine, dropped heavily into the co-pilot’s chair. The seat creaked under his weight.

“Aiee,” he grumbled, adjusting awkwardly. “They always make these chairs so small nowadays.”

Quell, the rookie—narrow-shouldered, human, and barely old enough to shave—slid into his own seat behind them. He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and tapped on a handheld device, scanning the ship’s metrics.

“Probably because they’re made for regular-sized beings,” Quell said without looking up, “and not an overgrown bulldozer with arms.”

Drex turned slowly and fixed him with a low, rumbling growl.

Quell stiffened. “N-no offense,” he added quickly, almost curling into himself.

Joseph dropped into the pilot’s chair with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times. He didn’t look back.

“Alright,” he said, voice sharp and even. “You two—lock it up and focus. We’ve got work to do.”

Joseph flicks a series of switches overhead as the ship hums to life. He grips the yoke, pulling it forward, settling into the pilot’s seat as systems come online.

Back on the bridge of the Silverhold, alarms flared.

“Sir! One of the strike-pods just launched!” the officer barked. “No authorization code.”

Rylos didn’t need to ask. He just stared out the viewport toward the asteroid belt as a single blue trail veered into the chaos.

“Dalaurza,” he said under his breath. Not angry. Not surprised. Just... resigned.

​

Inside the Drift, the asteroids spun lazily through the vacuum, colossal boulders wrapped in the silence of space. The smuggler ship darted ahead, skimming dangerously close to debris, trying to lose the pursuers in the chaos.

​

Joseph gripped the controls. “They’re panicking. Good.”

​

The Cinderhawk slipped into the Drift like it belonged there, weaving between rotating slabs of dead moons and broken stations. An asteroid sheared past, scraping the hull with a deafening screech. Quell gathers himself from the rattling of the ship. He looks at the ship's metrics.

"Looks like we took a little damage to the side of the Cinderhawk".  W-We should be fine. 

​

"Should be or will be, Stringbean?" Drex retourced.​

​

Joseph barely even flinched.  He was already adjusting course. A pulse of red fire as the smugglers launched a mine.  Joseph flipped the ship sideways, narrowly avoiding it.

​

A pulse of red fire as the smugglers launched a mine. Joseph flipped the ship sideways, narrowly avoiding it. Another near miss.

“Systems rerouted,” Vessa said calmly. “We have a five-second window to catch them!”

​

“Copy that,” Joseph said as his finger flicked the control behind the yoke. A magnetic tether fired from the bow, slicing through space like a harpoon.

CLINK!
The tether slammed into the smuggler’s ship with a satisfying clang, dragging against asteroid chunks like it weighed a ton. The Cinderhawk lurched forward, drawn closer with each rattling pull.

The ships collided with a painful SCREEECH, metal grinding like angry beasts.

Inside the Cinderhawk, chaos. The crew jolted in their seats as the impact rattled every bolt loose. A half-empty coffee tin hit the floor and rolled. The lights flickered. So did Quell’s confidence.

“Okay! We’ve got them. Now what?!” Quell shouted, gripping his armrest like it owed him money.
Everyone turned to Joseph.

He didn’t answer at first. Just clicked his tongue like he was deciding on dinner.

“Now... Drex, you take the wheel.”

Drex’s head dropped back with a groan. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know why you’re even asking,” Vessa said like it was a routine Tuesday.

“Ah... jeez,” Quell mumbled.

Drex reluctantly takes out his yoke and takes control of the ship. Joseph exits the main control room.  And launches from the side bay.

Joseph pushed off the Cinderhawk, drifting silently toward the smugglers’ ship—a rusty, dark-brown hulk floating like dead weight in space. His boots clamped onto the hull with a magnetic hiss. Step by step, each movement echoed with a sharp metallic CLAMP as he crawled along the ship’s side.

From his suit, a thin laser extended and began to slice into the hull.
Inside, the mercenaries were gathered in the main hold. One of them stiffened.

“You hear that?”

A faint sizzling hum—coming from the rear of the ship.

One of the smugglers headed toward it. As he approached, he caught sight of a thin red line carving its way through the metal.

Then—Joseph burst through.

The hull split open, and with it, a violent rush of air yanked everything into space. Alarms blared as the decompression began. Joseph barely held on—firing a grappling line from his suit and anchoring himself to the floor. He swung inside, boots scraping metal, and quickly tossed a circular device toward the breach. It unfolded mid-air, activating an energy barrier that sealed the hole and stopped the vacuum.

The sliding door at the far end of the room opened. The rest of the mercs stormed in.

Joseph took a breath.

Then—FWUMP. His energy shield ignited just as a volley of red blasts came flying his way.
Beams ricocheted off his glowing blue shield as he pushed forward under the barrage. Step by step, he closed the distance, knocking a few mercs aside with brutal efficiency. Then, in one swift motion, he dropped the shield and drew his blaster.

He fired with lightning-fast precision—mercs dropping one by one. Like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Suddenly—CLANG! One of the mercs knocked the blaster from his hand.

The two wrestled. The alien merc slammed Joseph into a wall and began to choke him, snarling.
Joseph, gasping, looked past him—and saw another smuggler pocketing a small object:

The chip.

His eyes sharpened.

Fueled by sheer will, Joseph broke the chokehold and floored the merc. But before he could catch his breath, another rushed in. A blast fired—Joseph ducked, grabbed the attacker’s arm, twisted, and knocked the weapon free.

They grappled. Joseph hit the floor hard. The merc lunged for the chip.

But Joseph, grinning from the ground, held it up between two fingers.
“Looking for this?”

The merc snarled and lunged. Joseph rolled aside, scrambling for his blaster. But the merc caught him and slammed him into the bulkhead.

Dazed, Joseph glanced up—and saw a red-lit button.

EMERGENCY BREACH.

He slammed his palm on it.

WOOSH!

The room exploded into chaos as the rear hatch opened. Everything not bolted down was sucked into the void.

​

Back on the Cinderhawk, the crew stood frozen, watching the chaos unfold through the viewport.

Even the I.D.C. cruiser, hovering just beyond the asteroid field, paused to watch.

And then—
Joseph’s hand snapped around the chip mid-drift. His tether fired—latching onto the smugglers’ ship.
Asteroids zipped past like bullets.

SMACK!
One struck his side.

SMACK!
Another to his leg. He cried out, pain lighting up his body. A massive chunk of rock spun toward him.

No choice.
Joseph released the tether and let himself drift.

​

“Look! It’s him!” Vessa shouted.

“I see him, I see him!” Drex growled, yanking the yoke hard to the left, guiding the Cinderhawk through the debris field.

Joseph drifted, twisting and dodging the asteroids as best he could. Finally, he slammed onto the ship’s windshield, back-first.

He looked up.

His crew stared at him in disbelief.

He raised a hand and waved. They waved back, still frozen in shock.

Joseph floated toward the airlock. With one final push, he launched himself through the opening just before the seal hissed shut.

​

Aboard the I.D.C. cruiser, the commander stood silently, watching it all play out on the screen.

He slowly shook his head.

​

"Starluck," he muttered.

​

He didn’t say it with praise or blame.

​

Just acceptance.