Zach, Chapter 3 Zach's boots thumped lightly against the illuminated console, the rhythm a silent countdown to nowhere. His gaze drifted between the viewport and the screen displaying the other Ceres ships holding their steady diamond formation. They were like steel petals orbiting an invisible flower, unified yet utterly still in the vast ballet of space. The pilot's chair felt different than the chair on his ship, with its well-worn grooves fitting to his lean form as if molded for his very bones. This was the largest ship he’d ever piloted, but there were more Corporate Ships than pilots available. His father had been given command, so this time, he wasn’t just an assistant pilot—he was the pilot. Zach let out a sigh that dissipated into the cabin's recycled air; yet the tedium of the past few days dimmed the thrill. He watched a figure on the hull of an adjacent ship head back to the airlock. "Spacewalk's done," he muttered to himself, the fleeting distraction of some minor maintenance the only thing of interest for days. They were powered up, engines ready, floating in place, and waiting the order to go. The video screen that showed the news from Galactic News Network came alive. Images from the Mining Corporation ships, ablaze with missile strikes and searing laser fire, danced their final pirouettes before succumbing to the cold embrace of space debris. A reporter stared out from the screen, her eyes filled with tears. “Breaking news, this just in from the front lines. The aliens have struck our brave Fleet with over 10,000 ships, casualties are high. We fear they will break our lines any moment now. The only thing on everyone’s mind is if the Mining Fleet can hold out until relief arrives.” "Damn," Zach whispered, eyes fixed on the violence unfolding pixel by pixel. A ship—a behemoth of metal and ambition—erupted in a silent scream, its surface crawling with destructive light as it absorbed the deadly kisses of enemy fire. "Looks like the party's started without us," he said, voice tinged with a humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. The Ceres Corporation, a titan among stars, had judged the situation dire enough to call for evacuation. Earth, usually the hub of cosmic comings and goings, had ordered a complete ban on all travel, sealing Earth and the colonies in an unprecedented lockdown. But Ceres Corp. was planning to defy the order. Everyone was aboard their designated ships, and now they waited, hovering just outside the space docks for the order to launch. The Comm. crackled to life. “This is the Fleet Commander, we have a go to launch. Stay tight with your squadron, no navigation beacons, no radar. Minimum safe distance has been suspended. We are flying silent and by sight only under war protocols. If you become separated from your squadron, head to the way point.” "Time to join the exodus," Zack murmured, fingers dancing over the console with practiced ease. Instructions flowed from his fingers to the ship, a silent command that would steer them away from the chaos, away from the alien onslaught that had brought giants to their knees. As the engines roared with power beneath his feet, Zach Hunter—the space rat, the gamer, the distant kin of Captain Archer—felt the weight of responsibility settle upon his young shoulders. He wasn't just piloting a vessel; he was shepherding a fragment of Ceres' soul through the dark, uncharted waters of the galaxy. Zack looked back at his father sitting in the Captain’s seat. “Go, keep a tight formation,” he said with a nod. Zach's gaze lingered on the dwindling specks of private ships as they blinked away into the safety of hyperspace, bound for Earth. The wealthiest of Ceres' guests had been quick to abandon ship, their luxury vessels empty of less fortunate guests for fear the extra weight would slow their escape. The cowards disappeared like shooting stars fleeing the night. "Good riddance," he muttered under his breath, not entirely sure if he meant the aliens or the high-maintenance and worthless guests that could think of no one but themselves. Now, with only the hum of the engines for company, Zach's black eyes scanned the dark expanse outside the viewport. Here in this void, an ocean of emptiness stretched out before them, a place vast enough to cloak their presence from prying alien eyes. It was a gamble, but with Earth off-limits and Ceres compromised, options were few. There were two hundred souls aboard his vessel, two hundred lives entrusted to his care—Zach felt the gravity of that number. They were tourists once, thrill-seekers and gamers seeking the ultimate adventure at the most luxurious resort in the galaxy. Now, they were refugees, their laughter and excitement replaced by hushed whispers and anxious glances. "Zach," came a voice over the comms, "keep the formation tight. We can't afford any slipups." "Copy that," Zach responded, hands steady on the controls. He could almost hear the unspoken message in the order: Keep them safe. Keep them alive. The Corporation Fleet depended on each pilot, each ship, each soul still willing to stand against the unknown. He thought of those left behind, the volunteers ready to face whatever came their way. His heart ached to join them, to defend his home with more than just evasive maneuvers and silent prayers. But orders were orders, and Zach was no stranger to discipline. His life among the stars had taught him that much. "Steady as she goes," Thomas, his father, whispered, his voice a solitary note of experience, support, guidance. The luxury liner, now a vessel of necessity, cocooned its precious cargo in a semblance of comfort. But even amidst the lush cabins and decadent lounges, reality gnawed at the edges of opulence. The guests, confined to emergency rations and stripped of their usual pampering, murmured discontent. Yet, beneath their complaints, a current of fear ran deep; the unknown loomed large, a specter in the stars. "Keep your head in the game, Hunter," he chided himself, shaking off the creeping dread. Zach was a space rat by nature, a salvage pilot by trade, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to navigate the unpredictable. "Hey, you see that?" Zach called out suddenly, tapping the screen where a blip had appeared. "Could be nothing, but..." "Stay sharp," came his father’s reply. "That’s just a scout probe from Mars." "Yes, Sir," Zach quipped back, though the weight of the situation allowed little room for his usual humor. As he monitored the instruments, guiding the ship through the vacuum with the finesse of a seasoned gamer maneuvering through virtual battlegrounds, Zach understood the stakes were far higher here. This wasn't a game. This was survival, and in this cosmic standoff, there were no second chances. "Zachariah Hunter," he reminded himself, invoking his full name like a talisman against the encroaching darkness, "you've got this." It was a promise to the guests, to the Corporation, to Ceres itself—a vow to bring everyone home, no matter what the galaxy threw their way. *** “Can I come in, Mr. Hunter?” asked Seth, his head poking around the corner like a groundhog. Seth had already been to the Bridge a dozen times to visit with Zach, and show him more images he’d received of the battle with the aliens. “Yes, Seth, take the navigators seat and keep your eyes open, we’ve lost visual of one of the ships in our squadron,” Thomas said from the Captain’s chair where he was leaning forward, watching for the missing ship. Seth slipped into the navigator’s seat, his eyes fixed on the viewing window in front of him. “I won’t show you right now, but I’ve got all the newest images from the war.” Seth held up his tablet to emphasize his newest images of the Miners. “They’re heroes," Seth muttered. Zach's eyes remained fixed on the blackness beyond the glass, unimpressed. "Don't be stupid, dude," he said, not turning to face Seth, his voice laced with skepticism. "Something isn’t right, this whole thing stinks of a scam." The statement hung between them, a challenge to the narrative being spun to the billions across the galaxy. It was a tale of bravery against an unseen enemy, but Zach's instincts screamed that the truth was cloaked in shadow, much like the expanse of space they now occupied. Seth’s fingers paused, hovering above the glowing screen. "But the reports..." "Reports can be doctored," Zach interrupted, finally swiveling his chair to meet Seth's questioning gaze. His black eyes were serious, the playful spark usually dancing within them now extinguished by doubt. "Look at them, Seth. Really look." Zach leaned forward, as if his proximity to the images could peel away the layers of deception. "Those ships, the damage, the way they move..." He trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. In their world, actions spoke louder than words, trajectories more truthful than broadcasts. "Trust me," Zach added, leaning back into his seat, the pilot's chair forming a makeshift throne from which he viewed the cosmos. Born into the Corporation, raised among the stars, loyalty to Ceres was etched into his very bones. But blind faith was not a luxury those who navigated the void could afford. “What do you mean?” Seth asked. “You think the images are fake?” "Not fake, but not in context," Zach said as he made a minor adjustment to their course. “Do you have the image of the missile right before it hits the Cosa Sara?” “Oh yeah, I’ve got that one on my home screen,” Seth announced, as if having the image of a ship about to get blown up on his school tablet was perfectly normal. “Take a closer look at it,” Zach said. “It’s really blurry, but you can just make out the outline of a fin. That there is a Zapper 2 missile. Pirates love 'em because they're cheap and nasty. We've got a few Zapper 3's in case we get into it with the pirates." The missiles were infamous among space rats like himself; tools of a trade that skirted the edges of legality in deep space, but they were relics, almost obsolete—a fact that didn't add up in the current narrative being spun to the masses. "I know what Zapper's are. They’re really old tech, and actually made for defense within an atmosphere. That’s why they have fins; to maneuver. But, in space there’s no air for the fins to use, so they’re shoot and forget missiles," Seth murmured, leaning closer. "Why would aliens use those?" "Better yet, why would they have our missiles?" Zach’s voice was a low drawl, almost drowned out by the hum of the ship's life support systems. “They wouldn’t.” Seth's eyes widened a fraction, the first sparks of realization igniting within their depths. They sat in silence, the weight of implication settling between them. It was Zach's turn to keep watch on the tablet now, his gaze unfaltering as he absorbed every pixel of the incriminating evidence. Zach's leaned forward as an alert blinked on the periphery of his vision. With a deft tap, he silenced the alarm and leaned forward to focus on the images of the supposed battle with the aliens. “What do we do?” Seth asked. "Just keep watching until we find the truth," Zach instructed, fingers tapping on the control panel and still not paying attention to the warning alarm. "I wonder if…" Seth suddenly stood, his hands out in front of him. “PULL UP, PULL UP, THERE’S A SHIP BELOW US COMING FAST!” Zach hesitated, unsure of Seth’s sudden outburst. “I have the ship,” said Thomas, his hand pulling back on the Captain’s manual over-ride joystick.” Seth spun around to face Captain Hunter. “They see us, they’re rolling to the left.” Thomas slammed the joystick to the right, rolling the ship away. A moment later the nose of the missing ship came into view outside the viewing window. The two ships rolled away from each other with only a few feet to spare. The two ships continued to separate until they were safely apart on their own courses. “Pilot, take the ship,” Thomas said. “I hesitated,” Zach replied, lowering his head in shame. “I almost got us killed.” “Son, you are a good pilot, your techniques are flawless,” Thomas said gently. “But to be a great pilot takes experience, and knowledge of things that may not seem relevant to flying.” Zach glanced up, his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “But, how could Seth have known there was a ship beneath us, and how did you know he knew?” Thomas smiled. “Seth is a Sothan. His planet is a desert world. The only sources of water are underground near crystalline formations. It’s a genetic survival adaptation developed over 3000 years since his people colonized that world.” “I don’t get it, he sensed the water on the ship?” “No, the guests aboard that ship are wearing a ridiculous amount of jewelry; diamonds, rubies, emeralds—all crystals. That’s what he sensed.” “How was I supposed to know that?” “That stack of books I gave you to read that you haven’t touched yet.” Zach blushed again and grinned. “Woops.” “Pilot, take the ship.” Zach spun around, and placed his hands on the console, his eyes on the viewing window in front of him, ensuring the ship that had wandered out of formation and nearly hit them was making its way back into formation. “I have the ship.” “You also have two-weeks extra duty for ignoring that warning alarm and endangering the ship.” Zach sighed. “Yes, Sir.”