The cockpit bathed in cold tactical light as overlays flickered to life across the Wraith's panoramic HUD. Red targeting vectors spiraled outward, forming a shifting three-dimensional display of the battlefield.
The silhouette of the derelict courier floated silently beneath them, a lifeless mass of faded hull plating and scattered antennae and beyond it, three hostile signatures on intercept trajectories.
"Iris, confirm full combat readiness," Ethan said, tightening the harness across his chest.
"Targeting systems online. Pulse cannon capacitor charged. Countermeasures on standby. Shield grid holding at full integrity," Iris reported calmly.
The ship shuddered faintly as lateral thrusters activated, angling the Wraith into a flanking posture.
Ethan's fingers danced over the controls. "Time to find out what she can do."
The Corsairs didn't bother with warnings or negotiations. Without ceremony, they opened fire.
Twin bursts of plasma lanced across the void, fast, bright, and deadly. The blasts skated past the Wraith's starboard side, close enough to light the cockpit with a searing blue flash.
"Iris-"
"Already compensating. Deploying aft thrusters. Initiating evasive pattern Delta-Seven."
The Wraith darted sideways, graceful despite its heavy armor. Ethan barely felt the acceleration thanks to the ship's inertial dampeners, but his heartbeat surged all the same.
He jerked the control yoke in response to a tightening radar cone. A second volley screamed toward them, this time, one shot hit. The energy shield flared a translucent hex-grid around the cockpit, absorbing the brunt with a groaning hiss of dispersing force.
"Minor impact," Iris noted. "Shield loss negligible. 99.4% integrity."
Ethan exhaled and lined up his targeting reticle. The Wraith's underbelly turret rotated and spat twin bursts of pulse-fire toward the lead Corsair. fast-moving, hot-red shots that streaked through the distance.
The pirate ship banked sharply, one bolt grazing its port wing. No major damage, but it was a start.
Ethan adjusted pitch and nose-dived toward the asteroid field.
"Initiating terrain masking," Iris said. "Caution: Navigational hazards dense within proximity range. Recommend active scanning mode."
"Do it."
The tactical map narrowed, rotating to a more localized, three-dimensional chart of the drifting debris.
The tactical map narrowed, rotating to a more localized, three-dimensional chart of the drifting debris. Dozens of massive rocks the size of shuttles spun in lazy, gravitational orbits, haloed by smaller pebbles and dust.
Ethan pushed the Wraith into the field at an angle, hands locked onto the controls. The inertial dampeners kicked in automatically to soften the brutal G-forces as the ship banked hard, skimming just meters above a jagged plateau of drifting rock.
"Iris," he muttered, "tighten inertial compensation to seventy percent. I want to feel it, but not eat the bulkhead."
"Adjusting settings. Seventy percent confirmed."
Behind him, the three Corsair ships split formation. Their drives flared like blades cutting the dark, twisting into pursuit. One dove straight in after Ethan, the other two looping wide to flank, just as Iris predicted.
The Wraith knifed through the field, rotating laterally to slip between two tumbling boulders. Ethan's eyes flicked constantly between the cockpit display and the visual viewport, sweat starting to bead at his collar. The close quarters made target lock risky, but it also neutralized the Corsairs' speed advantage.
"Let them follow," he whispered.
A massive asteroid tumbled ahead, easily seventy meters across. Ethan threaded the Wraith under it at a vertical angle, flipping the ship belly-up mid-flight as he curved around a fractured ridge. Dust trailed in his wake. Behind him, one of the Corsairs attempted the same maneuver but slightly too fast.
Crunch.
A distant, muffled impact echoed over proximity sensors. Ethan flicked his eyes to the rear cams and saw the pirate vessel spiral briefly, one wing clipped hard against a splintered rock shelf. Stabilizers flared. It hadn't been destroyed, but it was wounded and out of sync. That bought him space.
The second Corsair had closed the gap, its weapons lighting up.
"Incoming," Iris said flatly.
Ethan jerked the Wraith hard to port, letting the plasma bolts scream past his right wing, illuminating the cockpit in erratic bursts. He rolled the ship into a corkscrew dive, weaving behind a slower rock that passed like a drifting monolith. His targeting system blinked green, brief lock, center mass.
"Got you," he muttered.
He fired. A tight volley from the Wraith's underbelly turret punched through the Corsair's forward shield flare, sending sparks and vented atmosphere from its left stabilizer. The enemy ship swerved, trailing smoke, trying to recover. Ethan didn't press. He peeled away, the skirmish was far from over.
Breathing hard, Ethan allowed himself a brief pause as he leveled out behind the dense cover of a large, slow-spinning asteroid.
The Wraith's systems hummed around him, alive, aware, tuned to every pulse of his grip on the controls. His chest rose and fell, not out of panic, but focus. Battle was always noise and instinct, but space combat… this was something else.
Cold. Calculated. Unforgiving.
One Corsair peeled wide, arcing around the outer rim of the asteroid field, the one he'd wounded earlier, likely trying to regroup. The second ship vanished from sensors, repositioning behind mineral interference. The third, the one that had clipped the rock, was trailing behind sluggishly, playing catch-up with a damaged wing.
Iris' voice cut in, as calm as ever.
"Shield integrity remains stable at 94%. Energy reserves nominal. Hull undamaged. Hostiles are adjusting formation. Reassessing threat vectors."
Ethan flexed his fingers on the throttle, rolling one shoulder to loosen tension. His harness dug into his shoulder, the webbing secure. The targeting display pulsed red, flickering in and out as the Corsairs ducked through cover.
He could feel the rhythm now. The tempo of space combat. Not chaotic. Not frantic. Just fast. A new kind of fast. Not the sprint of a firefight on foot, but the glide-and-dive of predators circling in vacuum.
He swiped one hand across a set of controls, pulling the ship into position just behind a thicket of icy debris.
His brow was damp. His nerves were tight, but his lips curved slightly.
He was learning. And fast.
The Wraith had responded like an extension of himself. Iris had anticipated movement before he did. The ship's turning radius, the countermeasures, the thruster vectoring...all precise, all elegant.
But it wasn't just the tech. It was him. He was adjusting.
Fighting.
Thriving.
He grinned, low and dangerous, the fire in his eyes not unlike the one he carried in close-quarters fights back on Kynara.
"Alright," he said, voice calm, pulse sharp.
His hand hovered over the targeting interface. Fingers danced on the weapon control.
"Let's make this hurt."