"Freedom." She spoke the word like a curse, like a promise only fools make.
The edges of the galaxy whispered of it, tales like ghosts slipping through the cracks in the night. It was all she had clung to, from the moment they took her from her parents and sold her down to the mines. Freedom—a life beyond the credits and misery she'd been traded for. But no one told her what freedom took. No one told her how much she'd pay for it, how many times she'd bleed for it, or how cold it felt when it was just beyond reach. Out here, on the galaxy's outer edge, they wore wealth like a shield, their freedom as impenetrable as the metal walls around her. Their world of glamor, their vaults—they were bought and locked away, high above the grime and rot of the center.
She moved through the corridors of the luxury vessel with her head down, shoulders squared, the low hum of the engine vibrating underfoot. These people—they didn't see the reinforced walls and biometric scans as cages. To them, it was another layer of safety, a barrier they paid to keep. She slipped between them like a shadow, noting how their faces glistened under the lights. They weren't worried. To them, she was a co-pilot, another face on the payroll. Just a piece of the scenery. She glanced down at her uniform—a lie as cold and polished as the ship itself.
She wasn't here for the credits or their baubles. She was here for Luminous Dark Matter.
A single vial was all she needed. They kept it installed in the heart of the ship's core, hidden away as if it were nothing more than another trophy. But that single vial of shimmering blue light—so dense it seemed to drink in the air around it—could do more than they knew. It could tear open the galaxy's boundaries, breach into the unknown. A vial like that was worth far more than their wealth, more than anything they could imagine. It was what she needed to rip free from everything that held her back.
"Everything all right, co-pilot?" A passing officer tipped his hat, oblivious to the steel hiding behind her calm expression. She nodded, slipping past him with a hollow smile. Let him think she belonged here, just another cog in the machine. Just another piece of a well-oiled, tightly controlled system that never let people like her breathe. But that would change tonight.
Her badge blinked green as she scanned through checkpoint after checkpoint, her pulse matching the steady rhythm. Just a few more turns, and she'd reach the ship's core. The place where they thought only the powerful could tread. Her lips twisted in a half-smile. Let them believe that. She had her own ideas. Around the corner, the guard stood watch, arms crossed and jaw set. She slowed her steps, fingers twitching, itching for the grip of her blasters. But no—she wouldn't need them. Not yet. She moved with purpose, stepping up to the guard with the kind of confidence that could open doors without words. "Evening," he said, tone clipped. "Security check," she replied, pulling out the device she'd lifted earlier. Standard enough, enough that he'd nod and step aside, thinking it was just another night on a secure ship.
She stepped past him, exhaling slowly as the doors slid open before her. The core room was a cavern of metal and silence, every shadow sharp and deep. And there, in the center, under a dim, sterile light—the containment chamber, pulsing with the faint, otherworldly blue of Luminous Dark Matter. Her pulse quickened. This was it. Her ticket out, her way into the unknown. Everything she'd risked led her to this. She stepped forward, fingers reaching for the cool glass of the controls, her reflection staring back at her, fierce and unblinking. No doubt, no fear. Just the truth.
The alarm went off the second she started the override. The lights above shifted from white to red, and she heard the heavy clank of security doors sliding into place. Footsteps echoed, boots on metal, shouting voices she recognized all too well. But there was no turning back. She overrode the chamber lock, took the vial from its containment, and turned, heart pounding as she sprinted through the halls. The corridors twisted in her memory like old wounds, and every corner was a calculation, every stairway a gamble. Behind her, voices grew louder, closer, their shouts bleeding into each other as the alarms drilled into her skull. She hit the trash chute—a narrow escape, but her only way out. She pried open the hatch, and with a final glance at the empty hallway, she slipped inside.
The chute dropped her down into the belly of the ship, landing her hard among twisted metal and scraps, the sound of boots pounding above her head. She scrambled to her feet, a flash of pain shooting through her ankle, but she didn't slow down. The exit was just ahead—a narrow grate she'd cracked open hours earlier. She shoved her way through and was out, finally breathing open air as she stumbled onto the launch deck. And there, her own ship waited, sleek and dark against the stars. Her crew—Lisa and Redd—were already inside, waiting. The plan had been perfect, every detail in place. Until now.
A beam of light cut across her face, and the sound of rifles cocking filled the air. She froze, the weight of a dozen barrels trained on her back. She was close enough to see Lisa's fists clench through the window, her mouth shaping silent words she couldn't make out. But the rifles didn't waver, and the guards moved in, closing around her in a circle of red and black.
They shackled her, dragged her down into the belly of the ship she'd sworn she'd never see again. And as the door slammed shut, sealing her fate for the next eight years, they took the vial with it.