Minutes later, they were gathered around the salvaged table, the black box of the data recorder sitting innocuously at its center, plugged into Lina’s data pad. Ethan, Tashi, and even Wilf were practically vibrating with barely contained excitement, their eyes shining with the thrill of victory.

  "Alright, Lina," Soren said, leaning forward. "Walk me through it. How did you crack it?"

  Lina grinned, her fingers flying over her tablet. “We brainstormed some ideas. Wilf suggested that maybe the encryption algorithms in the Wraith's own systems were similar to the ones used by the recorder. Perhaps even identical, but if not, close enough that we could use them as a starting point."

  Wilf’s fingers waved with pride, though he ducked his head, a pleased flush coloring his cheeks. "It was just a hunch, really. But it paid off."

  “Normally, source code like that is encrypted and locked down itself,” Ethan said. “But in this case, Wraith’s unfinished and experimental state actually helped us. Since they were modifying the source to include and optimize the ship’s unique functions, it’s all open and readable.”

  “Using the Wraith's code as a template," Lina continued, "we were able to identify a potential attack vector. It allowed us to guess the first four characters of the encryption key with a high degree of certainty. That, in turn, drastically reduced the complexity of a brute force attack."

  "Instead of weeks," Ethan chimed in, "we had it cracked in hours. It was brilliant."

  Soren nodded, a swell of pride and gratitude rushing through him. "Incredible work, all of you. Truly incredible. Now, let's see what secrets this thing holds."

  Lina tapped a command into her tablet, and the recorder's display flickered to life. For a moment, streams of raw data scrolled past, a dizzying blur of numbers and symbols. Then, it resolved into a menu, stark and utilitarian against the black background. It didn’t look anything like logs from a data recorder.

  Soren frowned, leaning in for a closer look. "That's...not what I expected."

  "Me, neither," Lina admitted, a hint of confusion in her voice. "There's no ship's log, no crew manifest, no record of communications. Just a single video file, some kind of algorithmic dataset, and what looks like stellar cartography data."

  "A star chart?" Ethan asked.

  "A single set of coordinates," Lina clarified. "Marked with an identifier."

  Soren's frown deepened. "Play the video file."

  Lina nodded, reaching for her tablet, but Jack's voice crackled urgently over the comms before she could comply. "Soren, we're five minutes out."

  Soren cursed under his breath, torn. The recorder's secrets were tantalizingly close, the answers he'd sought for so long almost within grasp. But the mission, his son, had to take priority.

  "We'll come back to this," he said, rising from his seat. “As soon as we know Alex is safe. For now, prepare for arrival.”

  He left the room, hurrying the short distance to the bridge. Jack had already abandoned the command station, taking up his familiar position.

  “I have the conn,” Soren said, settling in the seat. He opened a ship-wide comm channel. “Attention, all hands. Arrival in orbit of PX-2847 is imminent. All hands to ready stations. I repeat, all hands to ready stations.”

  He closed the channel and looked at Jack. “Did you know they cracked the code?”

  Jack nodded. “I didn’t want them to say anything to you until they had it fully unlocked.”

  “You should keep me updated, Jack.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up only to be disappointed.”

  Soren turned his attention to the primary viewscreen, pitch black for the moment. He thought back to his attempt to trade the recorder for Dana. When the broad-channel hail had gone unanswered, he’d made the only choice that made sense—to go and look for his son while his team worked on the recorder. Now that they’d opened it and seen the contents, instead of answers, he’d only been presented with more questions. Nothing about this was clear, but if he could help one child survive whatever was happening, it would offer some comfort. Not that he’d given up on his daughter. He never would.

  He eyed the countdown on his control surface, watching the numbers descend from two minutes to one and then down toward zero. Wraith shuddered lightly as the counter completed, the jump drive spinning down. The universe asserted itself in a sudden flash.

  “Mark, put the grid over the barrel,” Soren ordered.

  “Aye, Captain,” he replied. The sensor grid appeared over the projector, three red marks already outlined on it. “Captain, three contacts,” Mark continued. He turned his head back toward Soren. “Sir, it’s a Komodo.”

  Soren’s chest clenched. Not a Komodo. The Komodo. The one they’d been seeking. The one that had confronted Galileo. Looking to the zoomed viewscreen, where it hung in space a few hundred thousand kilometers away, he was sure of it.

  “Two dropships are descending towards the planet’s surface,” Mark added.

  “They wouldn’t send ships to the surface unless they were encountering resistance,” Soren surmised. “Alex may still be alive down there.”

  “Soren, you don’t know that,” Jack countered.

  “I’m not willing to think otherwise. We may be able to stop this right now. Samira, open a channel. All frequencies."

  “Channel open, Captain,” she replied after tapping her console several times.

  Soren took a deep breath, gathering himself. Then he began to speak, his voice ringing with authority.

  "Attention Komodo destroyer, this is Captain Soren Strickland of the Wraith. I have what you’re looking for. The data recorder from the ship you destroyed. Hold your assault. I’m willing to make a trade."

  He paused, letting his words hang in the sudden stillness of the bridge. Every eye was on him, every breath held in anticipation.

  For a long, stretching moment, there was nothing. No response, no acknowledgment. Soren felt a flicker of doubt, wondering if he'd miscalculated. If this was all some kind of cosmic misunderstanding.

  But then, the speakers came to life, and a voice echoed across the bridge—a voice that sent chills down Soren's spine and froze the blood in his veins.

  His voice.

  "Wraith, this is Captain Soren Strickland of the Basilisk. Thank you for coming. You've saved me the trouble of needing to hunt two targets down separately. There will be no trades. Only your destruction.”

  Stunned silence reigned on the bridge, every face a mask of shock and disbelief. Soren stared at the viewscreen, his mind reeling, trying to process the impossible.

  And in that moment of distraction, of utter confusion, the Basilisk struck.

  A salvo of missiles leaped from its launch tubes, corkscrewing through the void towards the Wraith. Immediately afterward, the destroyer shimmered and vanished.

  “Shit!” Mark cried. “They have⁠—”

  He was cut off when the first missiles impacted before Soren could overcome his shock, before anyone else could do more than shout in alarm. The Wraith shuddered under the onslaught, the shields absorbing the brunt of the assault.

  Soren barely noticed, his attention fixated on the empty space where the Basilisk had been. His mind was still grappling with the revelation of his own voice, his own name coming from the enemy ship.

  "Shields to full!” Jack roared. "Evasive action! And someone get me a firing solution on that bastard!"

  The crew leaped to obey, Ethan shoring up the damaged bulkheads while Keira rerouted power to the shields. Sang wrenched the helm and opened the throttle, sending the Wraith into a dizzying spiral, hoping to evade the next round of incoming fire.

  The Basilisk's next salvo seemingly came out of nowhere, striking the Wraith's shields. The barrier flared brilliantly as it strained to repel the attack, and the bridge lights flickered as the ship's systems struggled to cope.

  Through it all, Soren sat frozen, his mind a maelstrom of questions without answers. Who was on that ship? Why did they have his voice, his name? What game were they playing?

  Another bone-jarring impact shook him from his paralysis, the deck pitching beneath his feet. He grabbed the armrests, steadying himself, his eyes refocusing on the viewscreen.

  “Damage report!” he barked, his voice rough.

  "Shields at forty percent," Ethan replied, his face bathed in the crimson glow of his console. “Minor buckling of the hull amidships at decks five through seven from the concussive force of that first salvo.”

  Soren nodded, the calm of battle replacing his prior fog of war. The Komodo had the same cloaking technology as they did. It was captained by a man who claimed to be Soren Strickland.

  How the hell was he supposed to outwit himself?

  One way or another, he had no choice. The question then, activate the cloak and lose the shields, or stay visible and ready to brawl? The enemy had chosen the former. It made sense to stick to the latter.

  "Kiera," he said, his voice like steel. "Charge the vortex cannon. Put the railguns on manual. Bastian, I want those guns firing controlled bursts near the Basilisk’s last known position.”

  She nodded, her hands already moving over her console. "Aye, Captain. Railguns to manual. Capacitors charging. Vortex cannon ready in thirty seconds."

  Bastian used the secondary pilot station to control the railguns, aiming and firing a quick burst into space.

  "Sang," Soren continued, “try to keep us moving opposite the enemy, but be ready to swing the bow toward her at any moment.”

  "Aye, Captain," Sang replied, her face set with grim determination. The stars wheeled on the viewscreen as the Wraith maneuvered, trying to outfly an opponent they couldn’t see.

  Ten seconds passed. Twenty. The railgun rounds continued through space, unable to track the target.

  “Bastian, hold your fire. Let’s wait for it to hit us again.”

  Thirty seconds.

  “The vortex cannon is charged, Captain,” Keira announced.

  Forty seconds.

  “She can hide all day,” Ethan said. “Wait for us to get bored.”

  “And for those dropships to reach the surface,” Keira pointed out.

  “Tactical, target the dropships with missiles. Sang, get us a good angle of attack.”

  The two officers complied. Keira hesitated, waiting for a target lock.

  “The dropships are entering the atmosphere, Captain,” Mark said. “It’s now or never.”

  “Target locked,” she announced.

  “Fire,” Soren said.

  Missiles streaked away from the Wraith, thrusters flaring as they rapidly gained speed, angling toward one of the dropships.

  “Get me the second one, Keira,” Soren said.

  “I’m trying,” she replied.

  “Incoming fire!” Mark announced just before the ship shuddered, shields absorbing another assault from the Basilisk.

  “Bastian!”

  “Targeting,” he said, firing more bursts.

  The missiles reached the first dropship, slamming into it from behind. Its shield absorbed the first half of the salvo, but failed by the time the second half arrived. Inside the atmosphere, it exploded in a fireball.

  The second dropship continued its descent uninterrupted, but as hoped, the attack had drawn the Basilisk back into the fight. They had a bigger fish to reel in now.

  Railgun rounds smacked into the Basilisk’s flank, their sudden disappearance revealing the ship’s position.

  “Sang, now!”

  She triggered vectoring thrusters at full power, pushing the back of the Wraith to point the bow toward Basilisk. Bastian’s rounds peppered the side of the craft as they turned, keeping the ship in their sights despite its cloak.

  Soren leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Fire."

  The Wraith shuddered as the vortex cannon unleashed, a lance of pure destructive force stabbing out from its bow. It speared across the void, the fabric of space-time twisting and warping around it, a swirling maelstrom of annihilation.

  It continued unabated, somehow missing the enemy ship.

  “Shut it down and recharge,” Soren ordered, voice carrying his frustration.

  Another salvo erupted from Basilisk, from a lower angle than they had projected. Soren’s jaw clenched in fury and respect. His apparent alter-ego had spun the Komodo’s nose down, keeping the railgun rounds hitting its hull near the midsection to throw off Wraith’s aim.

  More incoming missiles slammed into the shields, once more shaking the Wraith, Warning alerts went off, the power output dropping suddenly.

  “Ethan!” Soren cried.

  Ethan stabbed his controls. Soren felt gravity vanish as the power output stabilized.

  “Sang, evasive maneuvers!” Soren snapped. “Keira, activate the cloak. Two can play this game.”

  The Wraith vanished as Sang changed their vectors. Basilisk fired a few exploratory shots before giving up.

  “Captain,” Mark said. “A projectile fired from the ground just hit the second dropship.”

  The news surprised and excited Soren. It confirmed that someone was still down there, still fighting. “Did they release their payload?”

  “Damn, it looks like they did. Over a hundred fighters got out in time.”

  Space fell silent around them, the two ships maneuvering invisibly, each trying to get a leg up on a target they couldn’t see.

  “Samira, open the channel Basilisk replied on.”

  “Channel open, Captain.”

  “Basilisk, this is Wraith,” Soren said. “I understand you want to destroy me. And, at this point, I want to destroy you too. But I need to know what happened to my daughter. She was⁠—”

  “Captain of the Galileo,” the other Soren said, cutting him off. “We met a few weeks ago. She’s…gone.”

  Soren’s hands clenched into fists. “You killed her?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said that she’s gone.”

  “Gone where?” he growled.

  “Exactly,” came the reply. “We can do this dance forever, can’t we? Great minds think alike, after all.”

  “Who are you?” Soren breathed. “Where did you come from?”

  “I’m you, Soren. And you’re me. As it turns out, the universe is very complicated. And manipulating things we don’t truly understand…that’s a recipe for disaster. At least, if you’re on the wrong side of it, anyway. Shall we finish this, Soren? Drop our cloaks and duke this out like the men of action we’ve always been? I’m game if you are.”

  “Soren, he knows our shields are more damaged than his,” Jack whispered. “It would be suicide to take him up on his offer, even if he means it.”

  “Oh, he means it,” Soren replied. “At least, if he really is me, he does. But I got a look at the Komodo before it cloaked. It doesn’t have an opening for a vortex cannon. We can destroy them with one good shot. They can’t say the same.”

  Jack grinned. “That’s rather naughty, isn’t it?”

  “Call Wilf to the bridge, quietly. And tell him to hurry.”

  “Why—”

  “Just do it, Jack.”

  He nodded, turning away and quietly contacting Wilf through the comms.

  “Well, Soren?” the enemy Soren asked. “I know you aren’t a coward. So you must be working through potential strategies. Of course, I’m doing the same. But you know as well as I do, you can make a thousand plans on paper, and it only takes one small overlooked detail to turn everything on its head.”

  Soren didn’t reply until Wilf rushed onto the bridge, huffing and puffing from sprinting up from engineering.

  Jack held a finger to his lips to keep Wilf from being too loud.

  “You wanted to see me, Captain?” Wilf whispered.

  Soren got to his feet. “Wilf, you have the conn.”

  “What?” Jack said.

  “What?” Wilf echoed.

  “If the captain of the Basilisk is me, he’ll guess every move I make. Which means an extended stalemate, or we lose. But I have a hunch, a gut feeling, and I’m going with it.”

  Wilf’s fingers shivered in fear. “This is a lot of pressure, Captain.”

  “No,” Soren whispered. “He’ll move as if I’m commanding. You’ll move your own way. If I’m right, this will be easier, not harder.”

  Wilf exhaled sharply and nodded. “Okay, Captain. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is. You have the conn.”

  “I have the conn,” Wilf said, sitting at the command station.

  “We have an agreement on that, at least,” Soren said to the Basilisk’s captain.

  “Excellent. Set a countdown for twenty seconds.”

  Soren glanced at Keira, who nodded. They had delayed long enough for the vortex cannon to recharge.

  “Countdown set,” Wilf said softly.

  “Countdown set,” Soren repeated over the comms.

  “At zero, we come out of hiding,” enemy Soren said.

  “Agreed,” Soren replied. “And may the best Soren win.”

  “I will,” the other Soren answered.

  The comms disconnected.

  The tension on the bridge remained thick as mud as the countdown timer ticked down, each second feeling like an eternity. Soren stood beside Wilf, mind racing with possible outcomes. Jack hovered nearby, his expression a mix of apprehension and trust in Soren's unorthodox plan.

  As the timer reached ten seconds, Wilf issued his first order: “Sang, full stop.”

  Sang hesitated for a heartbeat, glancing at Soren with wide eyes. For his part, every instinct in Soren told him to counter the order. That a full stop was the worst possible maneuver. But this was precisely why he had turned over control of the ship to an untrained civilian. He nodded in affirmation of the command.

  "Aye. Full stop."

  The Wraith flipped over, its main thrusters flaring to slow it to a standstill, a sitting duck in the void. Soren and Jack exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing. This was crazy, suicidal even, but that was the point.

  The timer hit zero.

  "Drop the cloak," Wilf ordered.

  "Cloak disengaged," Keira replied, her voice tight.