Echoes From the Stars

The darkness of space was a suffocating blanket, thick and infinite, swallowing everything in its path. The Silver Echo drifted silently, her engines barely a hum against the black void. Sleek, fast, and deadly, the ship was more ghost than machine—a perfect predator in the stars.

Inside, the crew made their final preparations for the mission ahead, though none of them seemed particularly eager. Each was in their own corner, each wrestling with thoughts they’d never speak aloud. They had been together for years, and yet, moments like these still felt like the calm before a storm—unnerving in its stillness.

Copyright © October 2024 Issac and Carl Putnam.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Scene 1: Cid’s Restless Reflection

Cid stood in front of the mirror in his small quarters, watching his face flicker and change like a broken holo-image. One second, he was a sharp-jawed Federation officer, eyes narrow and hard. The next, his reflection shifted—now a weathered mechanic with oil-streaked skin and a missing tooth. The implant did its job, shifting his features with precision, but every change felt like a small death. Another face, another identity he’d never really be.

He grunted in frustration, slapping the side of the mirror as his face settled into the neutral one, he’d chosen for this job. It was easy, forgettable—just the way he liked it.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he muttered, still staring at the shifting faces.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, and Trixie stepped inside, her movements smooth, too human for a bot. Her eyes—always a little too expressive for what she was—caught his in the reflection, curious and soft.

“We’re almost at Vara Prime,” she said, her voice gentle, as if she could sense his discomfort.

Cid’s face flickered one last time before it solidified into the blank stare of a Federation officer. He turned to her, studying her closely. “You ready?”

Trixie tilted her head slightly, her hand resting near the small vial in her chest—the one Cid knew was more than just a power source. “I’m ready,” she said, though her smile faltered when she caught sight of his new face. “Does it ever… bother you? All the faces, I mean?”

Cid’s gaze darkened as he looked past her, through her. “It’s not about bothering me,” he said, voice flat. “It’s about survival.”

Trixie nodded, though her gaze lingered a little longer than it should have. She was always more empathetic than the rest of them, despite what she was. “Stay sharp,” she added, her voice soft. “The mission could get... messy.”

“Yeah,” Cid muttered, not looking at her. “Messy.”

As Trixie turned to leave, Cid’s mind wandered back to the faces—his faces. How many times had he worn someone else’s life like a mask? How many identities had he stolen just to stay alive? The answer didn’t matter. None of them did.

Scene 2: The Calm Before the Storm

The bridge of the Silver Echo hummed with quiet tension. Captain Jor’donn stood at the helm, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the controls. His eyes, sharp and calculating, watched the stars blur past as they neared Vara Prime. His hands, rough and calloused, rested on the controls like he could strangle the ship into submission if he had to.

Vara Prime—a fortress in the middle of nowhere. One of the Federation’s most secure outposts, guarded like a treasure trove of secrets. Breaking in wasn’t going to be easy. Jor’donn knew that better than anyone, but desperation had driven him to take this job. He didn’t like it, but when had he ever liked the things, they had to do to survive?

“We’re approaching the stealth zone,” Jor’donn grunted, barely glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the crew. “Everyone ready?”

Rolo, leaning casually against the console, arms crossed, gave a slow nod. His expression, as always, was unreadable. “We’re ready,” he replied smoothly, though his gaze never left the starfield. Rolo had a way of seeming calm—too calm—even when the shit was about to hit the fan.

From the corner, Lars, their medic and constant pessimist, let out a short, bitter laugh. “Ready? Yeah, let’s pretend this isn’t the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” he muttered, fiddling with his med supplies. He glanced toward the captain, his eyes hard. “This station’s got more security than a planetary vault. One wrong move, and we’ll all be Federation trophies.”

Jor’donn didn’t flinch. He never did. “That’s why we have Cid.”

The intercom crackled, and Cid’s voice came through, sharp and confident. “I’ll get it done.”

Scene 3: Slipping into Shadows

The Silver Echo slipped into the shadow of Vara Prime, its sleek, dark hull blending seamlessly with the blackness of space. Jor’donn’s hands tightened on the controls as he guided the ship closer, his heart a steady drum in his chest. He never trusted Federation tech, and he trusted this job even less. But that was the life they led—one bad decision after another.

Inside the station, Cid was already on the move, weaving through the crowded corridors like a phantom. To everyone watching, he was a high-ranking Federation officer with full clearance—his face and ID perfect mimicries of the man he’d replaced. His implant buzzed quietly in his head, adjusting his expressions and posture to fit in seamlessly with the officers around him.

His heart barely skipped a beat as he passed through the first checkpoint. The guards barely glanced at him, their scanners giving him a clear pass. Everything was going according to plan.

For now.

Scene 4: Unease in the Air

As Cid approached the second checkpoint, the unease in his gut grew. There was something off about the mission, something that didn’t sit right. His implant was flawless, his identity secure, but it wasn’t just the mission—it was the silence. The crew hadn’t spoken since they entered the station’s orbit. Tension hung thick in the air, and Cid couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a simple data heist.

The final checkpoint loomed ahead. A guard stopped him, scanning his ID with a bored expression. “All clear,” the guard said, not even looking up. “Move along, sir.”

Cid nodded, stepping past the guard into the heart of Vara Prime. The data core was close, closer than he’d expected. His heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained calm—a perfect mask.

He reached for the console, his fingers grazing the cool metal. “In position,” he whispered into the comm.

“Copy that,” Jor’donn’s voice came through, rough as gravel. “Get it done.”

As Cid worked, his mind wandered back to the faces he’d worn. All those lives, all those memories, none of them his. The thought lingered in his head as he hacked the data core, the mission suddenly feeling too easy.

The moment his fingers hit the final key; the alarms blared.

Scene 5: An Unwelcome Surprise

The blaring of the alarms wasn’t a shock—it was the timing. Cid’s fingers hovered over the console, his heart pounding, but his face remained calm, expressionless. It always did in situations like this. He was used to things going sideways. He wasn’t used to them going sideways this fast.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, quickly pulling up the system interface. His implant buzzed in his head, rapidly scanning the vault for alternative exits, but it wasn’t good news.

He tapped his comm, voice low and controlled, though there was an edge of frustration beneath the calm. "Jor’donn, we’ve got a problem. Security protocols just kicked in—vault’s locking down."

There was silence for a beat before Jor’donn’s voice cut through, sharp and focused. "What do you mean lockdown?"

"It means if you’ve got any clever plans up your sleeve, now’s the time to share them," Cid growled, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of an escape route. The thick walls of the vault were impenetrable, and the door he’d come through had sealed itself with a heavy clang.

Outside, the station's automated defenses were coming online. Security drones buzzed in the distance, a low hum that vibrated through the floor, and Cid could hear the faint clatter of boots—the sound of real bodies mobilizing, preparing for a breach.

"I’m working on it," Jor’donn barked over the comm, his voice tight.

Of course, the captain hadn’t expected things to go smoothly. They never did. But he hadn’t expected the Federation’s security to react this fast either. They’d been played. Somewhere, someone had triggered the alarm, and if they didn’t move fast, they were going to be knee-deep in Federation soldiers.

"Get him out of there," Jor’donn ordered, and this time his voice was laced with an edge that hadn’t been there before. "Trixie, prep the ship for takeoff. We might need to cut and run."

"On it, Captain," Trixie’s voice crackled through the comm, cool and calm as ever. Despite the chaos around them, she always sounded like she was in complete control.

Scene 6: Kharn Unleashed

There was a brief burst of static before a new voice came over the comm, deep and gravelly. "I’m on my way to him."

Cid smirked despite the situation. Kharn. If there was anyone who could tear through a full battalion of soldiers to get him out of this mess, it was the cyborg.

"Better hurry, big guy," Cid said, glancing around the vault. "This place is about to be crawling with more Federation goons than a propaganda parade."

The heavy thud of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside, growing louder with every second. Cid crouched beside the console, his blaster drawn, keeping an eye on the reinforced door. The vault was sealed tight, but he knew the Federation’s protocols—eventually, they’d send in the breach teams, and when they did, this room would become a bloodbath.

Kharn was a one-man army. The hulking cyborg, all steel and muscle, moved through the station with deadly efficiency. Cid could hear the sounds of guards hitting the floor, the dull thud of fists against flesh, followed by the sharp crack of bones breaking. Kharn didn’t need guns. He was the weapon.

The vault door shuddered as something heavy slammed into it from the other side. Cid raised an eyebrow, standing slowly as the door creaked and groaned under the pressure. Then, with a deafening crash, the door exploded inward, metal shards raining down as Kharn stepped into the room. His breath was heavy, his eyes wild, but there was a disturbing calm in the way he moved, the way his fists flexed as if looking for something else to break.

"We need to move," Kharn grunted, his voice low and rough like gravel scraping against stone.

"No shit," Cid muttered, holstering his blaster as he stepped past the ruined doorframe. "What took you so long?"

Kharn didn’t answer, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth said enough. He turned and led the way back down the corridor, his massive frame casting long shadows across the walls as they moved. Cid kept close behind his eyes sharp, scanning for any signs of trouble.

Scene 7: Escape or Fight

The station had come alive, alarms blaring from every direction. Red emergency lights bathed the corridors in a harsh glow, making the place feel like a maze of shadows and steel. Cid could hear the thudding boots of approaching security teams echoing through the halls, growing closer with every second.

"Security’s swarming the place," Cid muttered, glancing back at Kharn. "Got a plan, or are we just winging it?"

Kharn didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The brute force of his presence was the plan. If there was anything between them and freedom, Kharn would smash through it.

They rounded a corner, and as if on cue, three Federation guards appeared at the far end of the corridor, weapons raised. Cid barely had time to draw his blaster before Kharn was moving, a blur of metal and rage. The first guard didn’t stand a chance. Kharn’s fist connected with his helmet, shattering it like glass. The second went down just as fast, a brutal kick sending him crashing into the wall.

Cid fired off two clean shots, dropping the third guard before he could squeeze off a round. The man hit the floor, lifeless.

"Subtle," Cid muttered, glancing at Kharn as they continued their sprint toward the docking bay. "You ever think about not smashing everything in sight?"

Kharn grunted, a low rumble that might have been amusement. "Not my style."

Behind them, the sounds of more guards rushing down the corridors were growing louder, and Cid’s implant buzzed with warnings about the incoming teams. The station’s entire security detail had been mobilized—there was no going back now.

"We need to get to the ship," Cid said, more to himself than Kharn. "This whole place is about to come down on us."

Scene 8: Docking Bay Standoff

The docking bay doors loomed ahead, but as they closed in, Cid could see the silhouettes of more guards—six, maybe seven—waiting for them. These weren’t the run-of-the-mill security teams. These were Federation enforcers, heavily armed and armored.

Cid cursed under his breath, skidding to a stop beside Kharn. "Looks like they sent the big guns."

Kharn rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see how big they really are."

Before Cid could respond, Kharn was charging forward, his massive frame barreling into the first enforcer like a battering ram. The impact was brutal. The guard was thrown backward, slamming into the bulkhead with a sickening crunch.

Blaster fire erupted, and Cid ducked behind a nearby crate, firing off quick shots as the enforcers closed in. The air was thick with the sound of gunfire, the acrid smell of burning circuits filling his lungs. He could feel the heat of the shots whizzing past his head, but Kharn was relentless, cutting through the guards like they were nothing.

A shot grazed Cid’s shoulder, and he winced, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Trixie, we need an exit, now!"

Trixie’s voice crackled through the comm; her usual calm tinged with urgency. "Docking bay’s open, ramp’s down. I suggest you move faster."

"Working on it!" Cid snapped, firing off two more shots as Kharn ripped the weapon from one of the enforcers and crushed it in his hands like a tin can. The remaining guards hesitated, clearly unsure if they wanted to face the monster that had just obliterated their team.

"Move your ass!" Cid growled, ducking another shot as he bolted toward the docking bay doors. Kharn followed, moving with surprising speed for someone his size.

The Silver Echo loomed ahead; its ramp extended like a lifeline. Cid’s heart hammered in his chest as they sprinted toward the ship, the sounds of boots and gunfire echoing behind them.

They hit the ramp at a dead run, Cid skidding to a stop as he slammed his fist against the controls, sealing the doors shut. Kharn barely flinched as the ship lurched under their feet, Trixie already powering the engines.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," Cid muttered, slumping against the bulkhead as the adrenaline started to wear off. His shoulder throbbed where the shot had grazed him, but he ignored it, his mind still racing from the chaos of the last few minutes.

Scene 9: Back in the Shadows

The Silver Echo shot out of the docking bay, the stars blurring past as Trixie gunned the engines. Behind them, Vara Prime shrank into the distance, a fortress that had almost become their tomb.

In the cockpit, Jor’donn stood at the helm, his eyes sharp as he guided the Silver Echo away from Vara Prime’s reach. The massive station loomed on the scanner, but the real danger was in the unseen—a force that would undoubtedly mobilize after the breach. His grip on the controls tightened as he watched for any signs of pursuit.

“Engines holding steady,” Trixie’s voice came through the comms, a steady presence in the chaos. “But we’ve got limited time before they track us. We need to move into deep space—lose them in the dark.”

Jor’donn nodded, though his gaze never left the screen. He could feel the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him like a vice. Things had gone too smoothly at first. Too quiet. Now they were paying for it.

“How are we looking down there?” Jor’donn asked, his voice low as he opened the internal channel.

“We’re in one piece,” Cid’s voice crackled back, though the weariness was clear in his tone. “Barely. Got hit in the shoulder, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“And Kharn?”

Cid let out a dry chuckle. “He’s fine. Federation bastards barely touched him.”

Jor’donn smirked grimly at that. Kharn was damn near indestructible—thank the stars for that. “Good. Get patched up and get to the bridge. We need all eyes on our escape.”

He closed the comms, taking a long breath as the station finally vanished from the ship’s radar. Vara Prime was behind them, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. The Federation would come for them. They always did.

Scene 10: Tensions Rising

Cid made his way to the bridge, his shoulder hastily bandaged by Lars, the ship’s medic. He could feel the dull ache pulsing beneath the wrap, but it was better than nothing. His face, still flickering slightly from the stress his implant had endured, was beginning to settle back into its neutral form.

When he entered the bridge, he was greeted by the quiet hum of the ship, though the tension in the air was unmistakable. Jor’donn stood at the console, his broad shoulders stiff, his face as hard as steel.

“We’re clear of the station,” Jor’donn said without turning. “But they’ll be looking for us. We need to go dark for a while.”

“Wasn’t planning on sticking around for tea,” Cid muttered, dropping into one of the seats. His eyes drifted over to Rolo, who stood near the back of the bridge, arms crossed as always. The man was as calm as ever, though something about the way he watched the stars outside made Cid’s skin crawl.

Rolo hadn’t lifted a finger during the mission. He rarely did. And yet, somehow, he always seemed to know more than he let on. Cid couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Rolo hadn’t told them about the job—something that had gotten them in deeper than they realized.

“You look like shit,” Rolo said casually, his gaze flicking to Cid’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Cid replied dryly, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m diving headfirst into a firefight while you sit on your ass.”

Rolo’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. “I do my part, Cid. We all have our roles to play.”

Cid’s temper flared, and he stood, glaring at Rolo. “Yeah? And what’s your role, huh? Watching us get shot to shit while you hide in the shadows? What exactly do you contribute besides your cryptic bullshit?”

Jor’donn stepped between them before things could escalate further. “Enough,” he growled, his voice brokering no argument. “We’re all still here. We’ll figure out what went wrong later.”

“Something definitely went wrong,” Cid muttered, though he sank back into his seat. “That whole station was on alert before I even touched the vault. Someone triggered those alarms.”

Jor’donn’s jaw tightened. He’d been thinking the same thing, but he wasn’t ready to point fingers just yet. He had his suspicions, but accusations would have to wait.

Trixie’s voice came over the intercom, a welcome distraction. “Captain, we’re approaching the dark zone. We can drop off the grid here if you want to lose any trackers.”

Jor’donn nodded, his mind already working through their next move. They needed to lay low, regroup, and figure out what the hell had just happened. The Federation didn’t send enforcers like that on routine assignments. This job had been too risky from the start, and now they were neck-deep in it.

“Take us in,” Jor’donn said, his voice firm. “Full blackout. No comms, no scans. We vanish.”

Scene 11: The Dark Zone

The Silver Echo drifted silently into the vast stretch of uncharted space known as the Dark Zone. It was a place where few ships dared to go—an endless void where tracking systems failed, and even the stars seemed dim. It was the perfect place to disappear.

Jor’donn stood at the viewport, watching the stars flicker and fade as they entered the zone. The silence out here was suffocating, but it was better than the alternative—better than running headlong into the Federation’s guns.

“Everything’s powered down,” Trixie said quietly from her station. “We’re invisible for now.”

“Good,” Jor’donn muttered, though his mind was far from at ease. He turned to the rest of the crew, his eyes settling on each of them in turn. “We need to figure out what the hell happened back there. We were compromised before we even got to the vault.”

Cid glanced at Rolo, but he didn’t say anything. Rolo, for his part, remained as unreadable as ever.

“Could’ve been bad luck,” Lars offered, though his tone suggested even he didn’t believe that. “Or it could’ve been a setup.”

Jor’donn’s gaze hardened. “I don’t believe in luck.”

The silence that followed was heavy, tension rippling through the air. The crew had been through hell before, but something about this mission felt different—like they were teetering on the edge of something much bigger than they realized.

“We lay low for a few days,” Jor’donn said finally, breaking the silence. “Keep our heads down, stay off the grid. After that, we’ll figure out our next move.”

“And the data core?” Trixie asked, her eyes flicking to the sealed container they had stolen from the vault. “We still don’t know what’s on it.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Jor’donn said, though his gaze lingered on the core. Whatever was on that thing, it had been important enough to risk their lives for—and someone, somewhere, was going to come looking for it.

Scene 12: Whispers in the Dark

Later, in the quiet of his quarters, Cid sat at his desk, staring at the small data pad in his hand. The mission had gone sideways—there was no denying that—but they had gotten what they came for. Still, something gnawed at him, something deeper than the failed job.

His reflection in the window flickered. The implant was glitching again, shifting his face from the neutral one he wore to something else. Someone else. He frowned, leaning closer to the glass.

For a brief moment, the face staring back at him wasn’t one he recognized. It wasn’t any of the ones he’d worn on missions. It was someone from a long-forgotten past, a face he hadn’t seen in years.

A faint voice crackled through his hidden comm channel, barely audible but clear enough to send a chill down his spine: “They know you’re still alive.”

Cid’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the face in the reflection. Whoever this was, whatever had just happened—it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.