Chapter 1

Colonel Tim Bodge stood at parade rest before the space station’s observation window, his reflection a sharp contrast to the casual travelers around him. Twenty-five years of military service had pressed his spine straight as a rod, and even now, retired, his uniform remained crisp despite the long journey.

“How are you today?”

The simple question from a passing mother with her child caught him off-guard. His response came out like a mission report: “Status nominal. I mean...” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine, thank you.”

His eyes performed their automatic sweep – three exits, eighteen civilians, two security officers by the main door. He caught himself doing it and tried to focus on the woman’s friendly smile instead, but his gaze kept darting to check the corners, the shadows, the spaces behind support pillars.

The child waved. Tim’s hand twitched, halfway between a military salute and an awkward wave. After two and a half decades of combat on distant worlds, he’d forgotten how to do this – how to just be normal. And now he was headed to Taboj, to parents he hadn’t seen in twenty-five years. How would he explain what he’d become?

The space station’s intercom crackled: “Final boarding call for Transport 247 to Taboj.”

Tim’s hand instinctively touched the military ID still hanging around his neck. “Copy tha-” He stopped himself mid-response. Civilian now. Just say ‘okay’ like everyone else.

The mother and child were heading to the same transport. He watched them gather their belongings casually, unhurried, unaware of their surroundings. The child dropped a toy. In one fluid motion, Tim scooped it up, had already assessed it for threats, before reminding himself - it’s just a toy, just a family, just a peaceful space station.

“Thank you,” the mother said warmly. “Are you heading to Taboj too?”

“Affirmative. I mean, yes.” Tim felt sweat on his palms. Small talk. He could do this. “Going to see my parents.”

“Oh, how nice! Do they live in the capital?”

Tim’s mind raced through response protocols before forcing himself to relax. “They do. Haven’t seen them in twenty-five years. Been ... away.”

The woman’s eyes widened slightly at his uniform, understanding dawning. Before she could respond, Tim’s attention snapped to movement in his peripheral vision - just another passenger walking past.

Tim followed the other passengers down the boarding tunnel, maintaining what he realized was an unnecessarily precise distance from the people ahead. The mother and child were a few spots in front of him now, the child’s excited chatter echoing off the walls.

Inside the transport, he automatically selected a seat with clear sightlines to both exits. As he stored his single regulation-sized bag, his fingers brushed against the civilian clothes he’d bought but never worn. They felt alien compared to his uniform’s familiar fabric.

“First time back?” The transport’s attendant noticed his military bearing as she checked passenger manifests.

“Twenty-five years.” His voice came out harder than he meant it to.

“Long deployment?” She kept her tone casual, professional.

Tim’s jaw tightened. How to explain patrol rotations through the Outer Rim? Night drops on hostile moons? “Something like that.”

The engines hummed to life, and Tim caught himself running through emergency protocols, mapping escape routes. The child laughed at something, the sound jarring against his combat-trained instincts.

Twenty-five years of war. And now, somehow, he had to remember how to be a son again.

The transport shuddered as it broke free from the station’s artificial gravity. Tim’s hands automatically gripped the armrests - not from fear, but from thousands of combat drops burned into muscle memory.

A holo-screen flickered to life in front of each passenger, displaying Taboj’s current conditions. Tim stared at the peaceful scenes of his parent’s home planet: green parks, quiet streets, people strolling without checking sight lines or scanning for threats.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last conversation with his parents. It had been a vid-call, rushed between missions.

“Be safe,” his mother had said.

“Mission parameters are well within acceptable risk levels,” he’d responded. He winced now at the memory. When had he stopped saying “I love you” and started speaking in tactical assessments?

The child in front laughed again, pulling him back to the present. She was playing some kind of game on her holo-screen. Tim realized his right hand had unconsciously moved to where his sidearm would have been.

The ship’s AI announced. “Estimated arrival at Taboj Central Port in forty-seven hours.”

Forty-seven hours to figure out how to be civilian again. How to be a son again. Tim wondering if he should change into those civilian clothes after all.

After sleeping for approximately four hours, he was abruptly awakened by a loud bang. He stood up from his seat and began scanning his surroundings. As he noticed the flight attendant rushing towards him, her face pale and tearful, he halted her to inquire about the situation. She glanced at him and exclaimed, “We’re under attack! They’re seizing the passengers!”

Tim asked, “Who are you talking about, why are we under attack?”

“Y-yes,” the attendant whispered, already moving to guide passengers.

Tim’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, tearing strips from his uniform jacket. Twenty-five years of combat experience told him he had maybe two minutes before the pirates reached this section. He could hear them getting closer, their boots heavy on the deck plating.

The mother ahead caught his eye, clutching her terrified child. Tim gave her a subtle hand signal to stay low - then realized civilians wouldn’t know military gestures. He mouthed “stay down” instead.

Using the strips from his jacket, he quickly fashioned makeshift restraints. The pirates would expect frightened civilians, not a Special Forces veteran. The element of surprise was his only advantage.

A pirate’s rough voice carried down the aisle: “Everyone stay in your seats! Hands where we can see them!”

Tim pressed himself against the curved wall beside the cabin divider, counting footsteps. Three sets, maybe four. The first pirate would come through that door in seconds.

He’d spent twenty-five years fighting across the galaxy. Now, ironically, his first day heading home would require those same skills.

The first pirate stepped through, plasma rifle sweeping the aisle. He never saw Tim.

In one fluid motion, Tim grabbed the pirate’s weapon arm, using the man’s own momentum to slam him face-first into the wall. Before the pirate could shout, Tim had him in a chokehold, the makeshift restraint already around his wrists. One down.

“Hey, what’s the hold-” The second pirate’s voice cut off as he spotted his companion going down. He raised his weapon, but the confined space of the cabin worked against him. Tim was already moving, staying low, using the first pirate’s body as a shield.

A plasma bolt sizzled past, leaving a scorch mark on the ceiling. Passengers screamed. Tim surged forward, ramming his shoulder into the second pirate’s midsection. They crashed into a row of seats. The pirate’s weapon clattered away.

“Three more in first class!” the attendant whispered urgently from where she was guiding passengers back.

Tim finished securing the second pirate, his movements economical, practiced. He retrieved both dropped plasma rifles, checking their charges. The familiar weight felt natural in his hands - more natural than the casual conversations he’d been dreading earlier.

Heavy boots were running toward the commotion. Tim positioned himself, weapon ready.

From civilian to combat operator in less than two minutes. Some skills never fade.

Three more pirates burst through the doorway, their weapons already firing. Tim dove across the aisle, returning fire with practiced precision. A plasma bolt grazed his shoulder, the smell of burned fabric filling his nostrils.

“Special Forces!” he barked in his command voice. “Drop your weapons!”

One pirate hesitated - that was all Tim needed. His shot caught the man’s weapon, making it explode in a shower of sparks. The pirate screamed, dropping to the deck.

The other two split up, trying to flank him. Amateurs move in a narrow cabin. Tim rolled under a row of seats as plasma fire stitched the ceiling. He emerged on the other side, catching one pirate in the legs with a low sweep. The man went down hard.

The last pirate grabbed the closest passenger - the mother - as a shield. “Back off or she dies!”

Tim froze, weapon steady. The child was crying somewhere behind him. Twenty-five years of combat experience narrowed to this moment.

“You’ve got one chance,” Tim said, his voice cold. “One.”

The pirate’s eyes darted between Tim’s face and his uniform. Recognition dawned - this wasn’t some retired officer. This was someone who’d spent decades in real combat.

“Attendant, start evacuation protocol,” Tim ordered, securing the last pirate he’d subdued. “How many escape pods?”

“Six pods, eight people each,” she replied, already moving. Her training was finally kicking in.

Tim did the quick math - they could get all passengers out if they moved fast. “Everyone, quiet and orderly. Follow the attendant. Priority to children and elderly.”

The mother he’d saved was trembling but helped gather other passengers. Her child clung to her legs.

The ship’s intercom crackled - the pirates had reached the cockpit. Tim knew they had minutes at most.

“They’ll see the pods launching,” the attendant whispered.

“Not if they’re busy.” Tim checked his captured weapons. “I’ll give them something else to think about. Get these people out.”

He could hear more pirates moving through the ship. Twenty of them, spread out, searching. They’d expect frightened civilians trying to hide. Instead, they were about to face a combat veteran who’d spent twenty-five years learning how to fight in space.

“When you hear the commotion, launch the pods,” he told the attendant. “I’ll keep them focused on me.”

The mother touched his arm before being ushered away. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Tim nodded, then moved toward the ship’s maintenance access. Time to hunt.

Tim methodically worked his way through the ship’s maintenance tunnels, leaving a trail of unconscious or restrained pirates behind him. The sound of escape pods launching pushed the remaining pirates into chaos - exactly as planned.

He could hear their frustration through the ship’s walls: “The passengers are getting away!”

“Find them!”

“What about this guy taking us out?”

Twenty-five years of combat had taught Tim to use confusion as a weapon. He’d given the passengers their chance. Now he just had to reach that last pod.

Running low on ammunition, Tim emerged near the final escape pod bay. Two more pirates were waiting. He dispatched them efficiently, his movements mechanically now, muscle memory taking over.

The pod’s hatch stood open. Freedom. Safety. His first visit home in twenty-five years would have to wait.

Tim turned to hit the hatch control. In that split second, movement caught his peripheral vision. Too late. A flash of metal arcing toward his head.

The last thing he saw was the pirate’s cruel smile as the weapon descended.

Then darkness.

Pain exploded through Tim’s skull, but decades of combat training kept him conscious. He rolled with the impact, his body responding even as his vision blurred.

The pirate, expecting him to drop, wasn’t ready for Tim’s counter-attack. Despite the throbbing in his head, Tim swept the man’s legs and drove an elbow up, catching his attacker under the chin. The pirate staggered back.

Blood trickled down Tim’s face. Concussion protocols flashed through his mind - stay focused, maintain balance, assess situation. The ship shuddered around them - the pirates must be trying to pursue the escape pods.

“You should’ve stayed retired, old man,” the pirate snarled, raising his weapon for another strike.

Tim’s vision was doubling, but his muscle memory remained sharp. He blocked the second attack, twisted the weapon free, and slammed his opponent into the wall. The pirate slumped.

Alarms were blaring now. The ship’s AI announced: “Hull breach detected. Emergency protocols engaged.”

Tim stumbled toward the escape pod, his training fighting against his swimming vision. Just a few more steps. The pod was right there...

Tim lurched into the escape pod, every movement sending waves of pain through his skull. His training screamed at him to stay alert - head injuries were dangerous in space combat.

The pod’s controls swam before his eyes. He blinked hard, forcing himself to focus. Twenty-five years of combat experience guided his hands even as his vision blurred.

“Warning: Ship’s core destabilizing,” the AI’s voice echoed through the ship. “Complete failure imminent.”

Tim’s fingers moved across the launch sequence. Just as he reached for the final control, a hand grabbed his ankle. Another pirate, hidden in the pod’s shadows, yanked hard.

Tim slammed against the pod’s floor. Through his double vision, he saw the pirate raising a blade. No room to maneuver in the cramped pod. No weapons within reach.

The ship shuddered violently. The AI’s voice became more urgent: “Core breach in three minutes.”

Fighting unconsciousness, blood dripping into his eyes, Tim had to make a choice. Fast.

Tim’s combat-trained mind processed options in milliseconds. The blade was descending, the ship was dying, and his vision was tunneling. No time for hesitation.

He surged upward, using the pod’s confined space to his advantage. His head screamed in protest as he drove his shoulder into the pirate’s midsection, pinning him against the pod’s wall. The blade sliced across his arm instead of his chest - a wound he could survive.

“Core breach in two minutes,” the AI warned.

The pirate fought like a cornered animal, but Tim had survived worse. Despite his blurring vision, he caught the man’s knife hand and slammed it repeatedly against the pod’s frame until the blade clattered free.

“You’ll die here, old man,” the pirate spat, trying to reach the pod’s controls.

“Not today.” Tim’s elbow found the pirate’s temple with brutal precision. The man went limp.

Tim dragged himself to the control panel, leaving a trail of blood from his arm. His fingers found the launch sequence again, muscle memory taking over as his consciousness wavered.

“Core breach in one minute.”

The pod’s hatch sealed with a hiss.

“Launch sequence initiated,” the pod’s computer announced as Tim strapped himself in, fighting to stay conscious. The unconscious pirate slid across the floor as the pod disengaged.

Tim’s training kicked in through the haze of pain: secure hostile, check wounds, maintain consciousness. He managed to secure the pirate with emergency restraints before the blood loss and concussion made the pod’s interior spin wildly.

Through the viewport, he saw the transport ship growing smaller. Then a brilliant flash as its core breached, the shockwave catching the pod like a leaf in a storm.

“Warning: Impact imminent. Brace for turbulence.”

Tim’s last coherent thought before the darkness took him was of his parents on Taboj. Twenty-five years of combat, and he might die in an escape pod instead of making it home.

The pod tumbled through space, its lone conscious occupant slumped in his restraints, blood floating in droplets around his head in the zero gravity.

Emergency beacons activated automatically, broadcasting their position to nearby vessels. But in this sector of space, help could be hours away - if it came at all.

Tim found himself suspended in absolute stillness, his mind grasping at fragments of understanding. Never had he encountered darkness so complete, so absolute. The void consumed everything - no whisper of sound, no trace of light to orient himself.

A peculiar thought crossed his mind: Was this death? He attempted to move, but invisible bonds held him firmly in place.

“Sir, can you hear me?” The voice pierced the darkness like a shaft of starlight, its ethereal quality almost musical in nature. Something about its gentle timbre reminded him of ancient stories of celestial beings.

He strained to turn toward the sound, but his body refused to comply. Spatial awareness escaped him entirely - he couldn’t tell if he was horizontal, vertical, or somewhere in between. His surroundings remained a mystery, an endless expanse of nothing.

“Sir, do you understand what I’m saying?” The voice came again, patient and clear.

Tim tried once more to locate its source, and this time, something changed. Far in the distance, a pinprick of light flickered into existence, barely distinguishable from the encompassing dark.

Every fiber of his being urged him toward it. Something primitive within him knew that light meant life, and he had to reach it. Years of training kicked in - stay calm, break it down into manageable steps. The sensation of crawling came to him, though he couldn’t be certain if he was actually moving. Exhaustion weighed heavily, yet the light grew incrementally larger, as if time itself had slowed to observe his struggle.

“Sir, please open your eyes,” the voice requested once more, its tone carrying an odd mixture of authority and compassion.

As he mentally pushed toward the growing brightness, the darkness began to fade into varying shades of gray. When he finally managed to part his eyelids, the intensity of the light forced them shut again immediately.

Through squinted eyes, he began to make out shapes moving above him. The angel’s voice had a body now - a figure in pristine white, leaning over him with professional concern. As his vision adjusted, clinical details emerged: the sterile walls, the steady beep of monitoring equipment, the antiseptic smell that could only mean one thing.

“Welcome back, Colonel Bodge,” the nurse said, adjusting something beyond his field of vision. “You’ve been in an induced coma for about a week. The accident...” She paused, checking his vitals before continuing. “Well, we can discuss that when you’re stronger. For now, try to remain calm and take things slowly.”

Tim wanted to ask questions - thousands of them - but his throat felt like sandpaper, and his tongue seemed foreign in his mouth. The mystery of the darkness had been solved, but a new one was just beginning to unfold.

“I apologize. Let me adjust the lighting for you,” the voice said softly. “Take your time before trying again. The next attempt should be more comfortable.”

Tim kept his eyes closed, waiting patiently. What seemed like an eternity passed before he ventured another try. This time, when he carefully parted his eyelids, the overwhelming blur had subsided. The dimmed lights allowed his vision to focus, and he began processing his surroundings. Above him, a standard hospital ceiling stretched out, illuminated by a medical-grade lamp that cast a gentle glow.

Still unable to move his head, he used his peripheral vision to explore the room. The tops of clinical cabinets came into view, medical texts arranged precisely on their surfaces. The familiar voice spoke again, “I hope the lighting is more suitable now, sir.”

“Yes, much better,” Tim managed. “Why can’t I move my head?”

“We implemented a stabilization device due to excessive movement during your coma,” the voice explained. “I can remove it if you’d like.”

“Please do.”

Tim felt gentle pressure as something was carefully withdrawn from around his head and neck, returning his freedom of movement. As he turned to his right, he was startled to see a medical robot holding equipment in its articulated arms. “Were you the one speaking to me?”

The robot remained motionless and silent. The voice came from his left side instead: “No, that’s one of my assistance units. I’m the one who’s been speaking with you.”

Turning his head, Tim saw a woman standing at a measured distance from his bed. He attempted to sit up but found himself restricted by a safety strap across his torso. His questioning look prompted her immediate response.

“You’re welcome to undo that. It was another precautionary measure for your safety.”

Tim loosened the strap and began to push himself upright. “Sir, please don’t attempt to stand just yet,” she cautioned. “Your muscles aren’t ready for that level of exertion.”

Acknowledging the wisdom in her warning, Tim eased back down onto the bed. He turned to face her properly. “What’s your name?”

“I am Sarha, the ship’s AI and central control intelligence,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Pleased to meet you, Sarha. I’m Colonel Tim Bodge.”

“Colonel, while I’m glad we can finally speak, you must focus on rest right now. Your recovery and ability to walk again depend on it.”

Tim studied her appearance curiously. “I understand. But Sarha, why are you dressed that way?”

“My previous captain had ... specific preferences regarding feminine presentation,” she explained, a trace of something unreadable crossing her holographic features. “Please, just call my name when you wake, and I’ll be here immediately.”

Tim settled back, feeling his exhaustion return. This time, his sleep was natural and peaceful, free from the oppressive darkness that had enveloped him before.

When he awoke, Tim felt significantly more refreshed. Sitting up in the medical bed, he experimentally moved his legs, testing their strength. Sarha wasn’t immediately visible, and he couldn’t locate any kind of call button despite searching the room. “Sarha?” he called out.

Her form materialized instantly on the opposite side of the room. “How may I help you, sir?”

Tim startled at her sudden appearance, and she quickly noted his reaction. “My apologies, Colonel. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Please, call me Tim,” he said, steadying himself. “And I must say, I’m not quite used to people appearing out of thin air like that.”

“Of course ... Tim,” Sarha adjusted her holographic form slightly, making the transition more gradual. “I sometimes forget that newly awakened patients aren’t accustomed to interfacing with AI projections. Would you prefer if I used the doorway instead?”

Tim noticed now that her image seemed to flicker imperceptibly – a subtle reminder that she wasn’t physically present. The medical bay’s soft lighting passed through her form in a way that would have been impossible with a solid body. It was both fascinating and slightly unsettling.

“How long have I been here?” Tim asked, trying to piece together the gaps in his memory.

“I’m ... aboard a ship?” Tim asked, his mind struggling to process this information. “The last thing I remember, I was...”

“You were found in a damaged escape pod,” Sarha explained, her holographic form moving closer. “Star Ship Gladiator 1 is a specialized guardian vessel. I serve as both its AI administrator and medical overseer.”

Tim ran his hand through his hair, noting how much longer it felt. “Six and a half days, you said?”

“Yes, precisely 156 hours of unconsciousness. Your vital signs were erratic when we found you, but they’ve stabilized considerably.” She paused, studying his reaction. “You seem troubled by this information.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Tim managed to smile a weak smile. “I have no memory of how I ended up in an escape pod, or what I was escaping from.”

Sarha’s holographic form shifted, taking a seat in a chair that materialized beside his bed. The detail in her projection was remarkable – even the fabric of her uniform seemed to move naturally. “Memory loss is common with trauma and extended periods of unconsciousness. Would you like to know what we’ve pieced together about your arrival?”

“Please,” Tim nodded, adjusting his position to face her better.

“Your pod’s beacon was severely damaged, but we managed to detect your civilian ID signature. The pod itself...” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It showed signs of weapons fire. When we brought you aboard, you were suffering from severe decompression sickness and oxygen deprivation.”

Tim absorbed this information, his military training kicking in despite his condition. “Were there any other pods? Any signs of the ship I was on?”

Sarha’s expression softened with what appeared to be genuine concern. “I’m afraid not. We conducted a thorough sweep of the sector but found no other debris or survivors. The pod’s navigation systems were too damaged to trace your origin point.”

“I see,” Tim said quietly, looking down at his hands. They seemed thinner than he remembered. “What’s our current location?”

“We’re on the outer rim of the Centauri system. Perhaps as your strength returns, certain memories will as well.” She gestured to the medical equipment surrounding him. “Would you like to review your current medical status?”

The clinical detachment of her offer almost made Tim laugh. Here he was, lost in space with no memory of how he got there, talking to an AI that could materialize at will. “Actually, Sarha, I’d rather know more about you and this ship. If I’m going to be your guest for a while, I should at least understand where I am.”

Her holographic form brightened slightly – was that a smile? “Of course, Tim. What would you like to know first?”

Tim leaned forward slightly, his military instincts pushing through the fog of recovery. “What exactly is your role here? And how did I end up in your care?” He paused, a flash of memory surfacing. “I remember getting to an escape pod, and then ... someone struck me.”

Sarha’s holographic form flickered briefly, as if processing how best to explain. “To be clear, Tim, this is quite literally my ship. I am the Gladiator 1 - not just its AI, but its consciousness. We found your pod drifting in space, and I made the decision to bring you aboard.” She hesitated before continuing, “When we found you, you were unconscious strapped into your seat. There was also ... someone else with you.”

Tim’s expression sharpened. “Someone else?”

“A pirate,” Sarha said carefully, her projection moving closer. “Based on our analysis, he was your attacker. What’s particularly troubling is that he doesn’t match any known alien species in our database.” Her form gestured, creating a small holographic display of medical data. “However, I’m familiar with various pirate groups that operate. They’re known to attack vessels indiscriminately, seeking anything of value.”

Tim rubbed his temple, trying to force more memories to surface. “The attacker ... did they have any distinctive features? Anything that might help me remember?”

“The body showed signs of genetic modification,” Sarha replied, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “Advanced modifications that suggest whoever attacked you had access to military-grade enhancement technology. This isn’t typical pirate behavior, Tim. They usually rely on overwhelming force, not close combat.”

“Which means either they were specifically after me, or...” Tim left the sentence hanging, his military mind already analyzing possibilities.

“Or they were after something on your vessel,” Sarha completed his thought. “Unfortunately, your pod’s data core was completely destroyed. Whether that was intentional or caused by the damage it sustained, I can’t say.”

Tim attempted to stand, but Sarha’s hologram quickly moved to stop him. “You’re not ready for that yet. Your muscles need time to recover from the cryogenic effects of the pod’s emergency systems.”

“Time might be something we don’t have,” Tim argued, but settled back, nonetheless. “If someone targeted that shuttle, they might be looking for survivors.”

Sarha’s form took on a slightly more authoritative posture. “The Gladiator 1 is more than capable of defending itself, Tim. Right now, your recovery is the priority. Once you’re stronger, we can begin investigating what happened to you properly.”

Tim sat there and worried about Sarha, and asked, “Your sudden appearances are ... disconcerting,” still adjusting to his surroundings. “How exactly does that work?”

“As I mentioned, I’m an AI,” Sarha explained, her holographic form shifting slightly. “I can project myself anywhere on the ship through our internal holographic systems. It’s more efficient than maintaining physical androids or human staff.”

Tim’s military training kicked in as he subtly surveyed the room, noting potential defensive positions and anything that could serve as a weapon if needed. “We don’t have AI systems like this on our ships. At least, not where I’m from.”

Sarha’s expression changed almost imperceptibly as she observed his defensive scanning. “Your caution is understandable, but unnecessary. If I meant you harm, I wouldn’t have spent nearly a week keeping you alive.” She paused, then added, “Though I’m curious - what type of vessels are you familiar with?”