Zach III, Chapter 4 The sun of Belae dipped low, casting long shadows across the dismantled panels of the game dome. Zach Hunter, with his jet-black hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead, worked alongside his team in a symphony of clinks and clatters. Every now and then, he'd shoot a wary glance at the perimeter where Belae guards stood, their hands twitching closer to the weapons slung over their shoulders. "Careful with that console," Zach called out, his voice steady despite the tension curling in his stomach. The atmosphere was charged, an electric current running through the air, as if the planet itself could sense the brewing storm. One of the guards stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the group. Zach felt his muscles tense, ready for whatever might come next. "Faster, guys," he urged, but his words were calm, almost casual. If there was one thing Zach had learned from his father, it was how to keep cool under pressure. A metallic clang echoed as the last piece of the high tech equipment was secured. The vast majority of the dome structure was still standing, but the equipment inside had been the most important part, and with that secured, Zach had what he needed. The main structure would take another month to pull apart, and he didn’t think he had that much time. That's when Zach made his decision, knowing full well the risks it posed. "Lock up the ramp," he ordered, thumbing the communicator at his wrist. The ramp to their ship groaned in protest before sealing shut with a definitive thud. "Sealed," came the reply over the comm. Zach surveyed his handiwork, pride swelling in his chest. This game dome – a tangle of wires, screens, and dreams – was his domain. And he'd be damned if he let anyone threaten it or his crew. "Is that really necessary, Mr. Hunter?" a guard sneered, stepping uncomfortably close to the invisible line that separated them from Zach's territory. "Precaution," Zach quipped, flashing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "There’s a lot of very expensive equipment in our hold now, I want it locked up." But behind that smile was steel; the kind of resolve that had nothing to do with games. Zachariah Hunter may have been only fourteen, but the fire in his black eyes was ageless, born from a lineage of those who navigated the stars – and occasionally clashed with those who wished to bring them down. The air crackled with tension, the taste of unease sharp on Zach's tongue as he stood firm at the foot of the sealed ramp. The Belae officials, their faces twisted into scowls of authority, advanced with deliberate steps. "Open this ramp immediately," one official barked, his voice a whip-crack in the stillness. Zach clenched his jaw. "Can't do that," he responded, his words slicing the air with unwavering certainty. "Got precious cargo here, and I’m not leaving it unsecured over-night. I’ll see you in the morning, lots to do, need our rest." "Your defiance will not be tolerated!" the official snapped, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of his weapon. "Neither will your threats," Zach retorted, thumbing his communicator. "Dad, we've got trouble." It was nearly a half-hour before a van arrived from the power plant. Captain Thomas Hunter emerged with authority etched into every line of his formidable frame. His shadow fell across the officials like an eclipse, darkening their confidence. "Captain Hunter," the lead official greeted through gritted teeth, "your son refuses to comply with our demands." Zach stood in front of the closed ram like a mother hen guarding her chicks. "Demands?" Captain Hunter's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "This is my ship, and that" — he jabbed a finger toward the ramp — "is my son. We don't bow to demands." "Your cooperation is not optional," the official insisted, but his voice wavered, betraying a flicker of doubt beneath his façade of control. "Seems to me it is," Captain Hunter replied with a steely glint in his black eyes. "Now, unless you have a warrant for inspection, I suggest you step off my docking bay." The official's mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping out of water. He knew, as did all present, that the tide had turned. Captain Hunter stood like a fortress between his ship and any who dared challenge it. "Very well, Captain," the official conceded, defeat sour on his tongue. "But this isn't over." "Never is," Captain Hunter muttered as he watched the officials retreat. Turning to Zach, there was a fleeting smile that softened his commanding presence. "Nice work holding the fort, son, keep it locked up at night, and get some sleep." "Learned from the best," Zach quipped, relief dancing in his eyes. *** The very next night wrapped Belae in a shroud of darkness, punctuated by the sharp glint of stars. Within the confines of the docking bay, a tense silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional echo of a guard's boots against the metal floor. The air was thick with anticipation, each breath tasting of unspoken threats. Zach stood rigid, his back pressing against the cold bulkhead of the ship, eyes locked onto the unwelcome silhouettes of Belae guards stationed inside like statues, unmoving, their presence an oppressive weight on his chest. "Thought they'd be gone by now," Zach muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper to his father that had again arrived in the van from the power plant. "Seems they've made themselves at home," Captain Hunter replied, his towering frame emerging from the shadows. His black eyes held the reflection of the artificial lights, a glimmering defiance in the face of encroaching authority. "I didn’t think they’d try it two nights in a row. Sorry, Dad, they outmaneuvered me this time and snuck in during the day while the ramp was open," Zach's eyebrows rose, disbelief lacing his tone. "It’s alright," said Captain Hunter, his jaw set as he approached the intruders. "I'll handle this." Zach watched, a silent observer as his father's form cut through the tension-filled air, approaching the guards with an authoritative stride. Each step resonated with purpose, a challenge to those who dared to defy him. "Evening," Captain Hunter greeted, his voice deceptively calm. "I believe we had an understanding." One guard, bulkier than the rest, stepped forward. "Orders are orders," he grunted, his stance unyielding. "Then consider this mine." Captain Hunter's response was icy, his stance mirroring the guard's. "Leave. Now." "Can't do that, Captain," the guard retorted, crossing his arms. "Wrong answer," said Captain Hunter, stepping closer, his silhouette imposing. The standoff stretched, a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. Zach felt every muscle coil, ready for whatever spark might ignite the powder keg. "Your government's pushing it, you know," Captain Hunter continued. "This is not just about equipment or protocols anymore. It's about respect. And right now, you're standing on mine." A curt nod from the guard signaled a withdrawal, and the Belae troops began to file out, their exit marked by a collective exhale from Zach's team. "Keep it up, and there won't be a planet left for us to have issues with," Zach quipped from the sidelines, earning him a quick, sidelong glance from his father—a silent scolding that saying things like that were not helpful. As the days unspooled, so too did the patience of both sides. Each sunrise brought more demands from the Belae government, each sunset saw them unmet and defied by the corporate refugees. Words like 'blockade' and 'sanctions' filtered through the airwaves, whispers becoming shouts. "Can't keep dodging bullets forever, Dad," Zach said, his gaze shifting between the faces of his crew—each one etched with the strain of sustained conflict. "We won't have to," Captain Hunter replied, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken plans. "We're playing the long game, son. They can't afford to push us out. Not until we fix their power plant." "Feels like we're dancing on the edge of a knife." "Maybe so," Captain Hunter agreed, his eyes scanning the horizon, where space met steel. "But it's a dance we know well." Together, they returned to the ship, the ramp closing behind them with a resounding thud—a barrier against the outside world, a temporary reprieve from the growing storm. Shadows clung to the hull of the ship like a second skin, undisturbed until a panel slid open with a hush. From this dark aperture emerged a figure, outlined briefly against the dim interior light before blending into the night. Eric, the lead Steward, led his men from hiding. “Get some food, sleep, and for the love of God, take a shower, all of you smell like goats.” One of the other Stewards glanced at Eric. “Being cooped up in that smuggler’s hold all day is miserable. Someone should have put air conditioning in there? It must have been a hundred degrees in that coffin during the day.” *** The next morning, Captain Hunter left early with the nuke team to the power plant, while Zach headed out with his team to continue their work on the dome. Zach immediately felt a shift in the guards–more alert, anxious. As the day wore on, tensions grew to the very edge of boiling over, and just as the sun began to set, Zach received three buzzes on the communicator in his pocket–it was time to evacuate. Zach lifted his communicator to his mouth. "Dad just called, it’s time," he whispered into the com-link, and like phantoms, the Stewards materialized from their covert nooks within the labyrinthine underbelly of the vessel. Their faces were set in grim determination, eyes aglow with the fire of their mission. Marcus and his people were on the other side of the dome. Zach picked up a cable and started walking towards Marcus as he wound up the loose cable. He came around the dome structure, the guards still unaware that what looked like an innocent action, was bringing him closer to Marcus. He caught Marcus’ eye, and gave a barely perceptible nod and mouthed the words. “It’s time, get your people.” The Belae guards, haughty in their misplaced confidence, patrolled the perimeter with casual arrogance. They were unaware of the storm brewing beneath their feet, of the tide that was about to turn. "Three... two... one..." Eric counted down silently, his team poised like sprinters at the starting line. And then, with the synchronicity of a well-oiled machine, they struck. Eric darted forward, a blur of motion as he closed the gap. His hand shot out, catching the nearest guard by surprise—a textbook disarmament followed by a swift takedown. The guard's weapon clattered to the ground, a sound that shattered the silence like glass. “Now, get to the ship!” shouted Zach. The skirmish erupted into chaos, the Stewards weaving through their adversaries with a dancer's grace and a warrior's ferocity. Each move was deliberate, each strike calculated to incapacitate but not to kill. They were not here for blood; they were here for liberation. Marcus wasted no time. He gathered his people and ran towards Zach. "It’s about time," Marcus grunted. "Sorry, the hospitality here is just so awesome, we couldn’t pull ourselves away," Zach replied dryly. “What about them?” Marcus nodded at the other ‘volunteers’. Zach scanned the crowd, then made a decision. “Anyone that wants asylum, get on the ship!” As if someone had just fired the starter gun for a race, the crowd of at least a hundred people dropped their tools and sprinted for the cargo ship. Together, Zach and Marcus fought back-to-back as the rest of the Stewards formed a protective circle around them. The guards, now rallying, pressed in with renewed vigor, but it was too late. The tide had turned indeed, and it flowed fiercely toward freedom. "Fall back!" Eric commanded, and the Stewards retreated with their prize, leaving behind a field of dazed guards and a clear message: underestimate us at your peril. Zach exhaled, a smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. They had done it—they had tipped the balance, if only for a moment. And in this game of cosmic chess, every move mattered. "Let’s go, let’s go," Zach shouted as he waved people up the ramp and into the ship. The dust of conflict still hung in the air as Zach watched the rescued ‘volunteers’ stagger into the safety of the cargo hold. Their eyes, wide with the shock of sudden freedom, darted around, unaccustomed to defying the orders of the guards. Zach's chest tightened with empathy; he knew what it meant to teeter on the edge between captivity and liberty. "Everyone," Zach’s voice cut through the palpable tension, "you're safe now. You have asylum with the Ares Corporation." His words were a salve to the ragged souls before him, each syllable a promise of protection under his watch. The refugees exchanged glances, their wary expressions melting into relief. Among them, Marcus stood taller, shoulders squared with gratitude. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice rough like gravel. “They’ll regroup,” shouted Eric, “where’s you dad? Zach stood at the top of the ramp, watching with a worried expression. “There! I think that’s them.” Two black SUVs barreled into view, engines roaring like war drums and a cloud of dust following them. Captain Hunter was at the wheel of the first vehicle, his presence commanding even within the steel confines. The vehicles fish-tailed towards the ramp, and never slowed down. Zach jumped to the side as the SUV’s vaulted into the cargo bay, and screeched to a stop. "About time, Dad!" Zach hurled the words over the fray, a fleeting grin slicing through the tension as the tide turned in their favor. "Seal it!" Captain Hunter's order sliced through the air, sharp and irrefutable as he jumped out of the first SUV. The Stewards rushed aboard as the ramp began its ascent. As the metal maw closed, sealing away Belae's hostile gaze, Zach leaned against the cool surface of the ramp, his chest heaving with the sweet ache of survival. The ship hummed beneath him, a giant rousing from slumber, ready to reclaim the stars. The clamor of the skirmish receded as Captain Hunter approached Zach, his black boots thudding against the deck with each purposeful stride. A glint of mischief sparkled in his dark eyes as he tossed a set of keys to Zach. "Happy Birthday, I got you a car," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a half-smile that belied the gravity of their escape. Zach caught the keys, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in his chest. He arched an eyebrow, the humor in the gesture not lost on him even as adrenaline coursed through his veins. "Thanks, Dad. Just what I wanted—hot wheels with a side of grand theft auto. Hey, isn’t that the Planetary Administrator’s car? I like the little flags on the bumper. I’m going to tell everyone those mean ‘Game Master’." With a chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder, Captain Hunter clapped a hand on Zach's shoulder, steering him towards the heart of the ship. "Come on, let’s go home. I’ll meet you up on the bridge, I need to check on a few things." Zach navigated the narrow corridors with practiced ease, the cacophony of their hasty departure fading behind them. He arrived at the bridge, where consoles beeped and lights blinked in a symphony of urgency. Zach rushed to the viewing window, his reflection—a young man with wind-tousled black hair and determined eyes—staring back at him for a moment before the sight beyond captured his full attention. The planet Belae now shrank away as the ship lifted off. It was a mosaic of blues and greens, marred by the scars of conflict. Zach felt the gentle lurch of his stomach as they ascended, the vessel's powerful engines defying gravity with a deep, resonant thrum. "Look at her go," he whispered, a mix of awe and sorrow threading his voice as he watched the landscape dwindle. The familiar rush of spaceflight surged within him, an echo of the countless departures he'd braved by his father's side. Yet, this time, it was different. This time, they carried with them the weight of lives saved and a future uncertain, the stars ahead beckoning with silent promises. And just for a moment, as the ship pierced the veil of the atmosphere, Zach allowed himself to imagine that everything would indeed be alright. Zach's gaze was pinned to the silhouettes shadowing their ascent, a fleet in pursuit. His breath hitched, the triumph of escape souring into dread. "We've got company," he announced, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. "Those aren't enemies, my boy." Mr. Gillian's voice was laced with an odd mixture of glee and relief as he joined Zach at the window. The older man's eyes gleamed with a sense of ownership as he watched the vessels. "Those are my ships." Zach turned, perplexity knitting his brows. “Mr. Gillian, I didn’t know you came with us?” “Weren’t supposed to know, plausible deniability.” Mr. Gillian, usually so composed, seemed unusually animated, his gaze fixed on the mechanical horde that streamed after them like loyal ducklings. “I snuck off the ship the first night. All those ships are flying on remote control. Reprogrammed them at a hidden command center," he said, pride swelling in each word. "That’s it babies, just follow daddy, it’s going to be all okay, those bad men can’t hurt you anymore.” "Back in business, huh?" Zach quipped, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained wary of the floating armada. Mr. Gillian settled at a control panel, but before Mr. Gillian could respond, Captain Hunter strode into the bridge, his presence commanding instant attention. He moved with purpose toward the control panel, his glance sharp and penetrating as it met Mr. Gillian's. "Don’t do it, John," he warned, his voice a controlled rumble. Zach observed the two men, an undercurrent of tension crackling between them. "Do what?" The question slipped from him, tinged with curiosity and a trace of fear. "Several of those ships are nuclear missile carriers," Captain Hunter disclosed, his scrutiny never leaving Mr. Gillian's face. A collective gasp rippled through the crew, a silent tsunami of alarm. Mr. Gillian's hand, which had hovered ominously over a red button, now retracted as he snapped the cover shut with a decisive click. "For you, Tom, I will hold, but I will make this planet suffer one day for what they did." Captain Hunter's nod was barely perceptible, a silent accord sealed in understanding and shared history. "One day, but not today."