Proxima V was fire ringed with metal.

The planet itself was hydrogen turned fluid through some of the fiercest pressure in the universe, gaseous hydrogen and helium floating atop for clouds of orange-yellow flecked with fierce gold that gleamed like flame. The ring, however, was metal and man-made, an outer circuit of industrial platforms for gas mining and processing dating back centuries. Once the beating heart of Proxima’s value, it was still a critical piece in the chain of core worlds industry, and had been built with defences to protect it as the prize it was.

Today, the ring burnt from fires the champions of humanity had started in the name of liberation, as defence platforms flared to life, turning on their creators at the behest of their Vaadwaur oppressors. And amidst it all, phaser banks and turrets of Starfleet ships flared and exchanged broadsides with the polaron cannons of the Vaadwaur defence vessels.

Tempest danced through the debris of the shattering foundries. Where Redemption had ploughed forward with hammering salvoes and the Mercury hung back to hurl phaser shots and torpedoes with a sniper’s accuracy, Gus Tycho had to take his ship and thread the needle. Ducking under automated turrets, sling-shotting around collapsed support struts, the nimble Rhode Island flickered between targets with blazing phaser blasts that silenced point-defence nodes before they could warm up.

On the command channel, displayed on a small box in the top-right corner of the bridge viewscreen, the voices of senior officers bickered across the void.

‘We’ve got a confirmed weapons control node embedded in that drydock ring,’ said Captain Daragon of the Mercury, somehow calm and warm even under fire. ‘Take it out, and their coordination will collapse.’

‘That’s a central hub,’ snapped Fleet Captain Addison from aboard Redemption. ‘We destroy it, and we cripple one of Alpha Centauri’s principle gas processing facilities.’

Daragon didn’t miss a beat. ‘We should worry about saving the lives of A-C’s people, not its economic stability.’

Tycho rolled his eyes and tapped a fresh marker onto the nav display. ‘Fox, tighten us into that spine between the dock pylons. Thread the gap, keep lateral thrusters live. If we graze anything, we’re space junk.’ Tempest dipped into a downward spiral, skimming the shattered framework of a half-collapsed drydock. His eyes flickered across the feeds, and he allowed himself a smirk.

‘You’re both very charming,’ he told his fellow captains, raising his voice to be picked up by main comms. ‘But you need to figure this out. Until then, I’ll stop us getting shot, right?’

Faust’s voice was cold. ‘Captain Tycho, do your job.’

I always do. He didn’t keep the thought to himself out of deference; Tycho knew full well he could get away with a bit of lip in a crisis. Adrenaline erased superior officers’ memories, so long as he delivered. But something had caught his attention on his sensors. A signature, a pattern.

He turned to his science officer. ‘Nassir. Those turrets. Their control pings; are they cycling through the auxiliary band?’

The lieutenant blinked. ‘Uh, yessir. Not all, but a cluster by platform delta-twelve. I thought that was interference.’

‘Nah. That’s old code.’ Tycho sat up. ‘Mark VI turret network. You see that kind of last generation setup all the time on the frontier. I guess they don’t upgrade everything in the nice and safe core worlds, either.’ His hand flew over the controls on his command chair’s armrest. ‘Pull the handshake packet out of our system. Backdoor authentication sequence. Let’s see if the Vaadwaur did all their homework hijacking this.’

On the channel, Faust was still arguing with Daragon about escalation. While the old war-dog Daragon had a point, Tycho thought, the people of Alpha Centauri would forget their gratitude very quickly when they picked themselves up and found they didn’t have jobs to go back to. Not to mention that Faust was the division commander, and her word should have been law.

But nobody was as righteous, Tycho thought with an eye-roll, as Tav Daragon. He broke into comms again. ‘Captains, give me thirty seconds. I might have a workaround.’

‘You’re going to charm the turrets?’ Daragon asked wryly, and from the faint scoff from Faust, Tycho thought he might have annoyed them into uniting. Against him.

‘Whisper something sweet and nostalgic,’ he corrected. ‘They were built to love us, remember?’

‘Explain later,’ said an impatient but trusting Faust. ‘Proceed, but if they light up, we shift to hard burn and cut our way out.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ See, Daragon? he thought. When the scary lady gives an order, we go along with it.

Nassir sent the packet. The signal leapt across the band like a single arrow fired in the dark, hitting old subroutines the Vaadwaur had ignored. The turrets flickered, once, twice. Power cycled across the spine of the nearest defence pylon. The next salvo, aimed at the Tempest, sputtered and died.

Then the turret turned and unleashed its full firepower on a Manasa-class Vaadwaur heavy escort that had flown close to what it assumed was an ally. More shots followed, imprecise but not random, turning on the oppressors of Alpha Centauri.

Tycho barked a laugh. ‘There it is! You’re welcome, Redemption.’

The Redemption surged forward, flanking the now-staggering Manasa and cutting it down with a punishing broadside. Mercury launched a high-yield torpedo that severed the connection spine of another pylon, a strike that disabled, not destroyed.

‘That solution was… effective, Captain,’ Faust admitted.

Tycho stretched back in his chair like a cat ready for a nap. ‘Let’s call it a tactical handshake. I’ll name a cocktail after it when we’re done.’

The sensor feed from the Memphis streamed across Liberty’s viewscreen in neat, ordered waves: power signatures of Vaadwaur vessels, ship movements, vector deviations; everything the squadron needed to stay two steps ahead. Where everything else was chaos, the feed came crisp and clean, data that was only pristine because the Memphis hadn’t been touched.

Because they hadn’t let her be touched.

Captain Elara Galcyon stood on her bridge with one hand on the railing behind her command chair, reading the distant, chaotic storm like it was an algorithm she could solve. ‘How are the shields, Commander Dashell?’ She tried to keep her voice level. Captainly. Even if she’d never been in a fight of this magnitude.

‘At eighty-seven percent,’ her XO replied. ‘Minor bleed-through from the last escort we swatted, but deflectors are holding.’

‘Memphis reports full sensor integrity. Signal relays are still good,’ said her operations officer, a young lieutenant called Kiera. ‘They’re still feeding the whole squadron clean data. Clearer than the Vaadwaur are getting, based on this disruption to their comms systems.’

Galcyon nodded. ‘Then we hold this ground.’

The Liberty wasn’t designed for front-line brawls. She was an explorer, her cutting-edge technology designed to find and face what was in the deepest unknown. Or so Galcyon insisted. But today, the unknown was a Vaadwaur invasion in the Federation heartlands. So today she stood here, between the Memphis and the enemy, the shield guarding the squadron’s eyes and ears.

‘Contact!’ Dashell barked as a fresh ping appeared on their sensors. ‘New Vaadwaur signature, bearing zero-one-eight mark seven. Something big -’

The Astika-class battlecruiser dropped from a micro-jump upon them like an avalanche.

Galcyon worked hard to not flinch. ‘Hard to port. Charge all forward emitters.’ They were not manoeuvrable, and the Liberty was at her best at range. Perhaps the Vaadwaur had figured that out, and were closing to pin them in.

The bridge came alive with movement, her officers already in motion. On screen, the Astika was monstrous, bigger than anything they’d faced yet. Through sensors, she’d seen ships of this type go toe-to-toe with the Scylla and Sirius, ships mightier than her. It bristled with armament and she braced, only for the initial volley to not thunder towards Liberty.

It was heading for Memphis.

‘She can’t disengage in time,’ Dashell warned. ‘They’re faster at impulse.’

Galcyon took her seat, gripping the armrests. ‘Then we’ll have to stop them. Helm, put us between them and the Memphis. Tactical, focus fire on targeting arrays and forward torpedo launchers.’

Her XO leaned in, voice dropping. ‘We can’t win a direct confrontation like this.’

‘I know. But we can buy Memphis time.’

Liberty swung into a hard intercept, plasma trails gleaming in her wake. The Astika answered with a volley from its cannons, and the bridge shuddered, consoles flickering.

‘Forward shields to forty-two percent,’ Keira reported. ‘Secondary relays struggling.’

‘Compensate from the lateral grid,’ Dashell ordered. ‘And bring the deflector field in tighter.’

The two ships met in a brutal exchange, Liberty’s precision fire cutting into the battlecruiser’s flanks and scoring its hull, but the Vaadwaur didn’t flinch. A spread from the polaron barrage emitters slammed into the saucer section. Galcyon gripped the arms of her chair as the blast rocked them.

‘Hull breach on deck eleven!’ Dashell reported. ‘We’ve got fire in environmental control. Crew accounted for.’

‘Boarding pods inbound,’ Keira cut in. ‘Four – no, five. Multiple vectors.’

‘Brace for impact,’ Galcyon said, and hated the quiver she heard in her voice. ‘Security teams to junction nodes. Shut down EPS relays near breach zones.’

The first boarding pod hit just aft of the deflector, and the ship groaned like it was a spear in their flanks.

When Dashell turned to her, she saw blood was streaking down his cheeks. He’d taken a blow somewhere as Liberty had been battered. ‘Elara…’

‘I know.’ Galcyon tapped her combadge. ‘All hands: repel boarders. Secure primary systems. This ship does not fall.’

Then came the next volley from the Astika.

Endeavour swerved out of her high loop beyond a shattered Vaadwaur assault escort, the remains of its hull still tumbling in her wake. At the centre of the storm, Captain Valance stood on the bridge like an anchor, hands clasped behind her back as the next threat came into focus.

‘Three Manasas broken up. One’s limping away on impulse,’ reported Commander Kharth, studying the detailed tactical display projected from the armrest of the XO’s chair.

‘Swiftsure’s picking up the stragglers,’ added Lindgren from helm. ‘We’re clear.’

Valance gave a short nod. ‘Bring us about. Set course for Proxima II, three-quarter impulse. Let’s join Sirius –’

A sharp beep interrupted her, and her eyes snapped to Commander Airex at Science. ‘New contact,’ he reported. ‘Astika class. Intercepting the Memphis – no, it’s engaging the Liberty.’

Valance’s jaw set. ‘She can’t win that fight alone. Can the Ranger assist?’

‘Negative,’ cut in Kharth. ‘They’re in a dance with the assault escorts. Yves isn’t shaking them.’ There was a hint of judgement there that Valance couldn’t share. Captain Yves was an exogeologist by training. She wasn’t ready for this battle.

She turned to the tactical display. Already Liberty’s power signatures were wavering. They’d drawn fire to save the Memphis, and were now bleeding for it. Her throat tightened.

‘Set a course for Liberty,’ she ordered. ‘Full impulse.’

Lindgren’s fingers danced across the controls. ‘Aye, Captain -’

‘No,’ said Airex, and Valance’s nostrils flared for a second as she turned to him. But then he added, ‘It’ll take too long. They won’t last. We use Proxima III for a slingshot.’ Already, he was bringing up a trajectory with calculations and a course heading on the tactical display feed.

Kharth’s eyes narrowed. ‘This course drops us right in the Astika’s forward arc. We’ll be the ones taking the punch.’

‘Exactly,’ said Valance, but it was affirming, not concerned, and she added, ‘Cut the course tighter through the debris band. We need as much acceleration as we can get.’

Lindgren hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding. ‘Adjusting trajectory. Course plotted.’

It was a lot to put on the young pilot. But it was the move Valance would have made herself had she been at the helm. ‘Put me through to the Swiftsure,’ she ordered. Her chest tightened as the viewscreen changed, the tactical feed swapping for a bridge that looked much like theirs. ‘Captain Xhakaza, you’ll need to reinforce the Sirius and Scylla alone. We’re going after the Liberty.’

Xhakaza was frowning, like he knew this was impractical, but Valance wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on Commander Cortez, the SCE officer sat to the young captain’s left, and her brow had furrowed with deeper suspicion.

‘What are you doing, Endeavour?’ Cortez asked.

‘It’ll be just like Tagrador, Swiftsure,’ said Valance. For a moment, she’d almost called her by name. Instead, she kept it collected. Professional.

‘We did that to run away at Tagrador –’

‘Our standing orders remain: save the day.’ Valance swallowed. ‘We’ll stay safe.’

‘This isn’t safe -’

‘You have your orders, Captain Xhakaza. Endeavour out.’ The tactical display filling her eyes was a welcome reprieve from the worried gaze of her ex-girlfriend. She turned to Tactical. ‘Logan, as soon as we have targeting, I want everything we’ve got on the Astika’s sensor arrays and targeting relays.’

Logan gave a toothy grin, though his eyes were flinty. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’

Endeavour banked hard to port and dropped into a low orbit of Proxima III, the curve of the world pulling her into a steep dive as they skimmed the upper atmosphere. Dust and debris scattered by the battle shimmered and burnt around them as the ship roared onward.

Bridge lighting shifted. Systems groaned as inertial dampeners fought. From Engineering, Thawn’s voice came across the comms, clipped and tense and with no small amount of judgement. ‘We’re redlining on lateral stabilisers! If you want this done, now’s the time!’

‘Almost there, Rosara!’ Lindgren called in reassurance. Valance could see the sweat on her brow. ‘Three seconds to vector.’

Valance stepped down beside her, bracing a hand on the console. ‘On my mark.’ On the viewscreen, behind the projected tactical map, the curvature of the planet split into the harsh darkness of space. Somewhere out there, too far for the eye to see, was their heading. And their enemy.

‘Mark.’

Endeavour surged forward with a fresh burst of velocity, as if they were a spear flung by the planet itself. The journey across a system was not instant, but it felt it; felt like mere seconds had passed as they covered millions of kilometres at speeds that would have shattered their impulse engines.

As Kharth had warned, they came in directly at the Astika, but at speeds that barely gave the enemy a moment to react.

‘Target lock!’ bellowed Logan. ‘Firing!’

Beams and torpedoes burst from Endeavour, lashing across the Vaadwaur’s hull. Logan was true to his word, precision strikes hammering targeting relays and sensor dishes. Explosions flared as systems sparked and died, and the Vaadwaur ship reeled.

‘She’s losing forward weapon integrity!’ Kharth called out.

‘They’re pulling back,’ reported Airex. ‘Venting drive plasma.’

‘And they’re coming about,’ said Logan. We got her attention. Main guns are tracking us now.’

‘That was the idea,’ Valance said, and straightened. ‘Divert auxiliary power to forward shields.’

Liberty had stepped up to protect the Memphis, which had withdrawn a judicious distance. Now it was Endeavour’s turn to be the bulwark. It was a fairer fight, but it was not, Valance had to concede, one in their favour yet.

Kharth glanced over. ‘Liberty’s still boarded.’

With shields up and an enemy battlecruiser before them, they could neither beam reinforcements nor deploy them by shuttle. Valance swallowed, easing back into her command chair.

‘They’ll have to fend for themselves,’ she said regretfully, eyes locked on the immediate scope of the battle before her. ‘We hold this line.’