Echoes of the Past

Rhea Voss pulled herself into the pilot’s seat of her battered freighter, the *Wayfarer*, as the last shockwave from the Star Destroyer’s destruction rippled across the debris field. The console flickered, then steadied. She sat motionless, gaze fixed on the empty space where the ghost ship had been, her fingers still trembling from the EMP trigger. K-7 rolled up beside her, his photoreceptor dimmed. “Captain, your vitals indicate elevated cortisol and a heart rate of 112 beats per minute. I recommend a stim-pack and a moment of stillness.” “Just give me a second, K.” Her voice was hoarse. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the datacard—her father’s final message, recovered from the stasis chamber. It was warm, almost alive. She slid it into the ship’s console. A hologram sputtered to life: a lean man in stained Imperial captain’s uniform, his face lined with exhaustion, but his eyes sharp—the same eyes she saw in the mirror. “Rhea,” the recording began, static chewing the edges. “If you’re hearing this, I’m gone. The thing on my ship—it’s not a creature. It’s a wound. A tear between stars. The Empire found it, tried to weaponize it. They called it the *Shroud*. They put me in charge of containment.” He paused, glancing off-screen. “I failed. It learned to feed on fear. It grew. I had to lock myself in the core with it. I had to—I’m sorry. For all of it. For leaving. For never telling you why.” Rhea’s jaw tightened. “You could’ve told me you were alive.” The hologram continued as if he’d heard her. “I know you’re angry. You’ve every right. But listen: the Shroud wasn’t the only one. There are more. The Empire’s secret projects—they’re still out there. Someone will come looking for what I buried. You have to warn the Republic. Or burn it all. Your choice, kid.” He attempted a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I always knew you’d find me. You were the best navigator I ever trained. Trust your instincts. And Rhea—don’t let the dark win.” The hologram dissolved into static, then silence. K-7’s photoreceptor brightened. “A fascinating confession. Also deeply troubling. Is the ‘Republic’ still accepting classified intelligence from freelance cartographers with a warrant out for their arrest in three systems?” Rhea laughed without humor. “Probably not. But we’re not going to the Republic, K.” “We aren’t?” “No. I need to find out what else the Empire’s been hiding. If there are more tears—more shadows—someone has to map them. And I’m the only cartographer crazy enough to try.” She input a new course into the navicomputer. The *Wayfarer*’s sublight drives hummed, and the debris field slid past as the ship turned toward the tangled stars of Wild Space. “Captain, may I point out that we have insufficient fuel for a deep-range survey, no weapons except a malfunctioning blaster, and my ethical subroutines are compiling a list of objections that grows with every second?” “Noted. Override them.” K-7 let out a long, electronic sigh. “As you wish. But I am registering my protest in the ship’s log. Under ‘Captain’s Folly, Volume Four.’” Rhea leaned back, the datacard clutched in her palm. The ghost of her father’s voice still echoed in the cabin. She stared at the streaking stars ahead. Somewhere out there were answers—and maybe a way to close the wounds the Empire had torn open. The *Wayfarer* jumped to hyperspace, leaving the ruined Star Destroyer and its secrets behind. But Rhea knew: the dark between stars wasn’t done with her yet. She was just getting started.